The wind has been blowing hard for days here. I’m so tired of it.
The other night I had a meeting at my Son’s school. I was running right on time although I wasn’t quite sure where his teacher’s classroom was. But, I wasn’t too worried.
I parked fairly close to the school. I’m always cautious when I open my car door in the wind. I keep a hold of it until I’m safely out of the car and can shut the door without the wind catching it.
The other night I held on to the inside door handle while I opened the door. But, this time I didn’t have a strong enough grip, and the wicked wind ripped the door right out of my hand. I glanced at the polished black crossover in my door’s path and instantly wondered if I was far enough away from it.
I wasn’t. My door grazed the front panel of that black beauty leaving a stroke of sedan red in its wake. My stomach and throat muscles began to involuntarily tighten. I could see a car seat in the back of the vehicle. I thought to myself, “I just ruined the day of some poor parent and they don’t even know it yet.”
They still have to come out to their car and see the note I scribbled on a sheet of notebook paper and tucked under their windshield wiper (so the stupid wind won’t blow it away).
They probably won’t see the folded sheet of paper until they get in their driver’s seat. They’ll see it and immediately be annoyed because they’ll think it’s probably an advertisement. But, then they’ll realize it’s a folded sheet of notebook paper and wonder if it’s a note from a friend or loved one. Then they’ll get that same tensing in the pit of their stomach that I got just a few short moments before that and wonder how bad the ding is before they even get back out of their vehicle to look.
The poor tired parent will then walk slowly to the other side of their fairly new automobile and assess the damage. They’ll sigh when they see it. Not horrible, but not something that can be left alone either. They’ll think of all the things they have to take care of and mentally add this to their never ending list.
They’ll be annoyed with me but also (hopefully) a tiny bit grateful I left a note. They might wonder what kind of idiot would be so careless. They might wonder if I’m an absent minded teen or a busy mother with young children? Do I have a job? What was I even doing at that school? Am I a teacher?
Do they hate the wretched wind as much as I do?
I’m sorry glossy black auto person. If I knew who you were I’d bring you a pan of these amazing cinnamon sticks. My mother-in-law gave me the recipe a long time ago. I never made them until now because I have this silly notion about how things that taste good must be complicated to make. But these cinnamon sticks are simple and beyond wonderful! Thank You, Deanna!