Today, I drove home to meet a friend with five-gallon containers in her hands to replenish my oil tank, our means for heat, with drips of deisel fuel paid for by my leaking bank account. Ten gallons at $3.40 a pop to tide me over until the imminent hundreds of gallons and dollars to warm our home beyond a night.
Stopping to make a quick CVS run, I dropped $2 in the can of a shivering, homeless man in a wheelchair, who said as we parted, "nice car". His missing extremities challenge my belief (and that of my Mom), that my well-worn, dented car with 185,000 miles and a ceiling secured (a false sense of secured perhaps) with painters' tape is on its "last leg". I thanked the man for his sincerity, a sentiment that could easily be interpreted as sarcasm by those who have graced the stained, crumb-filled passenger seat, smelling soured, spilled milk and remarking on the frequent gas or engine light or hole in the floorboard from my occasional leadfoot. I got in the car and, once again, quickly accelerated my thoughts to my financial strains, my house that hasn't yet sold, the location of my warmest blankets, rising interest rates and the current crisis in Egypt. Lots of RPM (ruminations per minute)!
Life's temporary mishaps and inconveniences can lend a narrow focus to what seems to be falling apart, leaking, breaking, disappointing or pissing us off in the moment. Perspective goes out the window, now wide open to a tendency to dwell on the misfortune and everything else that seems bad, wait for the next disaster or borrow trouble through misdirected attempts to take control. In my case, I waged the battle of my furnace burning oil (an untested theory created through rumination), by burning bridges with my oil company with assertiveness that ventured into anxiety and pushiness. The price of oil can do that (It couldn't just be me - ha), and I am hopeful that the customer service representative's training extends to handling difficult customers as oil prices soar and temperatures drop.
My friend arrived with an empty stomach, roast in the oven, and full hands to come to my aid. Her 13-year old nephew graciously accepted chocolate cupcakes and my coat, despite his likely desire to be anywhere else, while my friend gently replenished my oil and my spirit. The reset button on the furnace worked, and I am comforted by the familiar creaks of the radiator that scare my daughter, and tonight will keep me warm.
Now, it's time to reset my perspective. The man on the street hit the button with a poignant reminder (and $2 therapy session) to be grateful for what I have, and it is now up to me to restart. Tomorrow's a new beginning, and I will listen more intently to the lone robin signaling spring from my window before I move too quickly to tackle the day. I will thank my nice car for running, overlook the crumbs, smell the dated 7-11 air freshener dangling from my mirror and perhaps even invest in some duct tape for the ceiling as I try to see more clearly.
P.S. Mom, I am okay. Standing strong and learning. Thanks Pamela, Curtis and the man on the street!
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