Laine, a
dear social media friend who hails from Australia, (and a connoisseur of my
multitudinous blogs) encouraged me to write one relating to the stark contrast
between the insignificant things about which we complain vs. the God-awful
stuff with which some people contend.
Even as I
write these words, I am listening to my favorite 24/7/365 radio/internet
broadcast, “Night Sounds” with the late Bill Pearce; a program I began
listening to over a quarter century ago. (www.nightsoundsradio.org).
Speaking of
my friend’s encouragement, it seems ironic that today’s radio broadcast is
entitled, “Gripe Sessions.”
The
following account is an example from my own life.
When my
first wife and I lived in Virginia, I was employed as a Civil Service clerk at
the U.S. Army Records Center in Alexandria; just outside of Washington, D.C. It
was a 30-40 mile drive, and I expended a total of well over an hour per day in
my commute. And it may be helpful to you to know that Stafford County was, at
least at that time, very rural in nature, and more susceptible to contingences
of the weather than the D.C. area.
It was the
winter of 1973, possibly 1974, and our television weatherman was predicting
8-10 inches of snow in and about Stafford County. And true to his prediction,
we woke up to an impressive blanket of white surrounding our mobile home, and
the hundred or so other aging mobile homes which lined the streets of our trailer
park.
And I
suddenly realized how woefully unprepared I was. Not only did I lack snow tires
(and/or chains), but our mobile home park was absolutely snowed in, and no
arrangements had been made this winter, (nor any winters preceding it) for a
snow plow.
Pt. 2
Well, as you
might imagine, as soon as 9am rolled around, I called my supervisor, Miss
Elizabeth Brown, and made her aware of my inability to report to work that day.
No doubt, she questioned my lack of preparation, but dear reader, I could only
report what I just reported to you.
However,
since no additional snow was scheduled for the next couple of days, I surmised
that the accumulation of white stuff would soon melt, and I would be able to
make it to my job the following morning. (Can we say, “Below average
temperatures?” Can we say, “No such luck?” Can we say, “Fat chance”)?
Well, my
dear friends, not only did the snow fail to melt that day, but when I awoke the
following morning, the level of the white stuff against the picket fence which
bordered my mobile home seemed not to have decreased one iota. And as I had
done the day before, I spun the dial of my rotary phone, (for cell phones were
still only a twinkle) and anxiously awaited the subsequent “Army Records
Center. Corps of Engineers. This is Miss Betty Brown” greeting of my immediate
supervisor.
Her matronly
greeting was not long coming.
To say the
elderly lady was displeased with my inability to report to work two days in
succession would be “next door” to saying she was disappointed with having lost
her right foot to gangrene. I mean, she was ‘ticked.’
“What do you
mean, Bill? The streets are clear here. I simply don’t understand. I hope you
can make it to work tomorrow!”
I realized I
was left with only one option. I set off on foot, and soon found myself walking
down Route 1, South towards the quaint Civil War town of Fredericksburg;
approximately ten miles distant. Having walked a short distance, I stuck out my
thumb, and hoped some passerby would take pity on me.
Pt. 3
Sadly, (at
least for me) I cannot tell you I received an immediate lift, nor can I report
that anyone so much as slowed down to look at me during the course of the first
hour. Eventually, however, an old Chevy pickup truck pulled off the road, and I
jogged the 15 or 20 yards which separated my person from the vehicle. Arriving
alongside the truck I threw open the passenger door, stepped in, and thanked my
earthly savior for the courtesy he had chosen to extend towards me.
No doubt, as
the miles accumulated, (much faster than they had done when I was on foot) my
momentary friend and I chatted about the historic snow storm just past, and the
reason behind my journey. As we passed through Falmouth, and crossed the
Potomac River, I asked my ‘chauffeur’ to drop me off at a car parts store.
Exiting the vehicle, I thanked the man, and went in and asked the clerk whether
his fine establishment carried snow chains; to which I received an affirmative
response. Of course, he inquired about the make and model of my vehicle, and
before much time elapsed, I walked out of the store with the requisite
hardware.
At this
point, my journey continued in reverse. For whatever reason the trip forward
has proven to be more memorable than the trip backwards, but I surmise I walked
an interminable distance, and eventually someone responded to my right thumb.
Whatever the case, by the time I walked through the entrance of the
(illustrious) “Stafford Mobile Home Park” the sun was low on the horizon.
And it was
then I realized, how utterly different the landscape now appeared in contrast
to its appearance when I began my southward trek. I was almost disappointed to
realize that the lovely blanket of virgin white snow was all but gone now, and
the black asphalt of “Virginia Drive” and its muddy parallel shoulders had, by
now, risen up to greet my return.
Given the
karma which seemed to pursue me on this particular day, I thought it not
strange that the hard-won snow chains which I so valiantly labored to retrieve
…were the
wrong size!
(I am happy
to report I made it to work the next day).
Afterward
Did I
mention that at various times and seasons in our lives, we’ve all experienced
‘stuff’ which provided plenty of fodder about which we might have complained,
(and probably did) but which, given enough “water under the bridge” can only be
recounted with a “wink and a grin,” …(or perhaps peals of uproarious laughter)?
Well, the
foregoing illustration from my own life is a good example.
Considering
all the hideous things going on in the world today,
…I am blessed. Yes, I am blessed.
by William McDonald, PhD
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