On Wednesday morning I drove the Gort to school. Coffee cup firmly ensconced in the cup holder. Because it was a ‘make-coffee-right-away’ kind of morning. Do not wait until the school run is over. Do not collect $200. Make coffee now.
While waiting at a stoplight to turn onto 17th avenue, I took a sip. Fire. There was liquid fire in my mouth. Apparently the coffee was about ten degrees hotter than normal. So I spat it out…all over my jeans…because I didn’t know what else to do. And I drove on, with a scalded mouth and stained pants.
When the Gort insisted he could walk to the school entrance by himself, I happily obliged. Seconds later a friend, who’d just dropped her kids off, walked over to the car-van. ‘Coffee?’ she asked. I was an unshowered mess of a thing with stained jeans. ‘Tomorrow?’ I begged off.
So Thursday arrived and we hunkered down over a slightly-less-blistering cup of coffee. And conversation touched on the weather, as it so often has these last five months. Speculating whether the weekend forecast for nice weather would be true. Holding out hope that it would. Believing, fervently, that our gloom would somehow dissipate if the weather improved. ‘Tomorrow….we’re always waiting for tomorrow,’ my friend sighed.
Yes. When the weather is better. When the kids aren’t sick anymore. When the baby sleeps through the night. When everyone’s out of diapers. When we make more money. When summer is here. When vacation starts. When the excess pounds are shed. When work slows down. When the renovations are done.
‘I know…today is the best day of your life!’ I Oprah-ed. Familiar with the slogan; not always a subscriber.
But for whatever reason my mind kept replaying those eight words as I drove home. I didn’t want to ‘when’ my life away. Because ‘when’ might never arrive…and then what?
You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.
Oh, The Places You’ll Go by Dr Seuss