This is a story about a birthday party, a ratty (but very expensive) piece of wood and an unplanned stop on the side of the road. In this story I will turn out to be nothing that even slightly resembles a heroine, but I will have learned a lesson or two. Stay with me for I will weave this together so you can understand how these divergent areas relate.
It all started long ago when I came home from work early and happened to be the first to pick up the mail that day. It contained the usual flyers, correspondence, bills . . . and a very large packet of cancelled checks. This was back when things like this actually came via mail, instead of electronically. I was most interested in the heft of this particular bunch of checks. Why, it seemed we must have paid out the national debt from the weight of the envelope.
During the preceding months my husband had been in charge of the checkbook—we often swapped this duty back and forth—for one person can take only so much of doling out, watching the bank account dwindling away. After a while one needs psychiatric help or at the very least a break. But I proceeded to do what any uninformed spouse would do and opened the checks perusing to see just where our funds had been dispensed. And then I saw it—the check for $500 for a railroad sign!! Yep, that was a 5 and 2 zeroes, not fifty. I could feel my blood pressure rise and stroke level seemed imminent.
So, I waited like a spider for a fly, waited to find out just why a sign would cost so much. When my husband arrived he very glibly explained that it wasn’t just any old sign, but the one from a rail yard that had meant a lot to us in our younger days. It was a real find, but mostly for the sentiment it would evoke. Well, needless to say I did not feel very sentimental. I had a bona fide hissy fit—you know the drill, a guilt trip, how hard we both worked for our money, yadda, yadda. But this vituperative explosion only made me feel worse instead of having a good venting experience.
Then it dawned on both of us that we were expected at the surprise party of a very good friend. I was thinking of not attending at all, so as not to inflict myself on anybody else that night. But I did not want to hurt my friend, so I very quickly dressed and off we went in what had to be the quietest car on the road. I was in my non-verbal phase, trying to wind down to a passable state to meet folks.
We arrived, surprised the guest of honor, and fulfilled our duty to our very good friend. But some other friends knew me well enough to know that something was off. One guy approached me and made a political comment (because he and I bickered back and forth on such topics—always had, and loved the verbal back and forth.) But not getting his usual retort he asked another friend just what was wrong with me? He said he had made a statement that ordinarily would have launched me into outer space. But I had replied in short, terse one syllable words. So, I was not my usual loud, “love a good debate” self. I was not being a very good actress. We left after a suitable stay and headed home.
My husband remembered that we had planned a little road trip for the next day. We often did this to just get away and share some time alone. The last thing I wanted was a road trip and told him so. But the next morning I had reconsidered and told him I was entertaining the notion of heading north to the antique stores and buying everything I saw. I envisioned a shopping trip that would make Sherman’s march to the sea seem like a bird walk! So we headed out.
After a quiet time on the road, we had stopped at a few places, had a light lunch and were ready to head home. I had cooled down and had not, mind you, bought the first outrageously expensive antique. I did buy a ring for $7.50 at a small craft fair. And so, on we drove mutely winding our way south to home.
Then it happened. (This is where the lesson comes in.) I saw a small group of people gathered on the side of the road near a graveled area at a guard rail. As I was glancing to see what was happening I beheld the single most beautiful sunset I had ever seen, probably will ever see. There it hung, the sun on the horizon like a large orange ball of fire, slowly dropping like the harbinger of night that it was every day without fail. But this day was special, the sun was huge and a color that could only inspire awe.
I asked my husband to pull over so we could watch with the others. We stood for a while, silent like every one else and I knew this was not the moment to speak. As the sun slowly sank, taking its radiant heat with it, I finally did comment. I said, “Imagine what people ages ago must have thought of sunset before they even understood about space and time and the science of things. How frightening it must have been to see the day being stolen, not knowing if the sun would appear the next day or not with certainty. How scared early man must have been as the family huddled in a cave to stave off the darkness.”
Yes, it does sound totally, stupidly philosophical. The moment I said it (and it did just pop out) I realized I sounded like a nut. I expected folks to laugh or look at me askance. But to my surprise folks started to add to that and talk about sunsets and how they affect people and so on. It was one of those “KODAK” moments I speak of that will sear itself on the brain never to be forgotten. Never had I felt so close to a group of total strangers. It was an epiphany and I know it will flash before me as I lay dying. Then the talk quietly died down, mimicking the sunset, and we all just headed back to our cars and resumed our trips. I will always carry with me a memory of that small band as we stood and talked like we had known each other for years.
The lesson? Well, (1) don’t worry so over money, there are far more important things; (2) go to the birthday party, don’t let your friend down just because you are a twit, (3) don't be too hard on your spouse for a sentimental gesture, and (4) people will always surprise you. They will listen and respond and share a beautiful moment when you least expect it. So, just be sure you stop for the sunsets, they can take you to a place you could never imagine.