At least that's the way I see it. Each day we create and compile chapters—some short and simple, some extensive and involved, either humorous or dramatic or sweet or eerie or heartbreaking—all adding to our very own book of tales. Daily occurrences have the capacity to be retold in story form. And most of them, I have found, are naturally oozing with morals.
Take the other day for example...
It was a morning like any other, neither brightly sunny nor gray and stormy but somewhere dull and in between. Regardless of the weather, I was hoping for the day to prove momentous on a personal level. For, you see, I was down to writing the very last chapter of my latest book. Being so near my goal, I felt eager to actually complete the ending. I foresaw it as a huge personal accomplishment, one I could not wait to check off my mental list of achievements.
However, as I often tell my three boys, "responsibilities come first." And so I set out to my part-time day job, antsy and bubbling on the inside in anticipation of a free afternoon of writing.
This would be the day I finished writing a book! That is not an easy task, people.
I drove my youngest son to school and dropped him off with a kiss and an "I love you." Then I drove to the little ma-and-pa shop where I work. Though I tried and tried to avoid the clock, my eyes flickered in its direction nearly every minute. My job is not intellectually engaging to begin with, not like the science of creating new worlds or anything, so time naturally ambled along. I managed to keep my anxiousness contained even though I swear time was dragging its feet on purpose.
I answered phone calls as cordially as possible.
I took things apart.
I put things back together.
I tormented the gentlemen who work with me.
And then... finally... the clock struck 12:00! (No not midnight. This isn't Cinderella's story.)
Out the front door I disappeared in a blur. I rushed to my car and turned the key in the ignition, all fired up anticipating my completion of those final crowning paragraphs that would complete my latest book! My heart pounded in my chest, overly anxious for two reasons. First, this was going to be my day of great accomplishment. Second, though I fancy myself to be a good person, I do believe that... well, how shall I put this?
I'm cursed.
Don't laugh.
Trust me.
There are plenty of past extraordinary disappointments in my life to prove it, but I will wait for another time to compose that list. For now, suffice it to say that driving the short distance from work to home while aware of those past frustrations was enough to have me concerned about what could possibly go wrong between point A and point B.
So, being wary, I kept to the speed limit and signaled at every turn, managing not to get pulled over by a traffic cop.
I was an observant, defensive, careful driver, avoiding a car wreck on the way.
I didn't text or call on my cell phone while driving. (Not that I ever do. Okay, next to never.)
I made it down the neighborhood street, onto the highway, through the busy four-way stop, and was cruising at the appropriate speed while keeping an eye out for the occasional deer, skunk, dog, cat, raccoon, varmint, or vampire that occasionally crosses the road nearing our home—fairly common occurrences.
Yes, you heard me; I was nearing home without a single stroke of bad luck!
It was about a hundred yards from my house, the length of a football field, where my heart plummeted to the very bottom of my shoes. Pressing a foot on the brake to bring the car to a stop, I laughed. Not a humorous laugh either. I laughed out loud with incredulity—a crazed cackle to keep from crying.
Like I said—I'm cursed.
No, this is not Dorothy and Toto's story, but like their tale, sitting in the very middle of the road and across both lanes as well as blocking off the only drivable access to my street was... a house. Yes, you heard me right, an actual wretched house.
A HOUSE!
For criminy's sake, who puts an entire house in the middle of a road? And without leaving any room to get around it? Of all the days, times, and places, barring the one and only path that I needed! All I wanted was to get home to my precious laptop and type out those last few paragraphs. That's all I asked! Was that so much? Fate had to put an ENTIRE HOUSE in my way? Really?
I'm cursed. Told you so.
So, I rolled down the window as Mr. Police Officer approached.
"Sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to take the road up the hill to get around."
"But I don't want to get around. I want to turn that corner right there and get to my house."
"Oh."
(Yeah, duh 'oh'.)
"Well, ma'am, I'm sorry, but there's no way around the, um..."
"the house," I assisted in a grumble.
"Yeah."
"So... how do you suggest I get home?"
"You'll have to wait, I guess."
"For how long?"
"The men tell me it'll be two to four hours before they get it moved."
(This is where I roll my eyes and scream silently in my head.)
"Officer, do you realize there will be school buses headed down this road in less than three hours? How are my kids supposed to get home?"
"Huh. I hadn't thought about that. I don't know. Maybe we'll have to escort them to their homes." (Yes, he really said that. And I'm thinking, how are you going to escort them around THE HOUSE?)
Accepting the absolutely uncanny reality of things, I drew in a deep breath and asked, "Is it okay if I pull over to the side of the street here and wait?"
"Oh no, ma'am. We can't have cars blocking the road."
(Seriously?)
MORAL OF THE STORY: Be adaptable. Be patient. Don't ever think it is a sure thing, and vice versa, don't ever think it is impossible. Because life can put a house in the middle of your road if it wants to. Never say never.
This wasn't the actual house (in a state of bewilderment, I failed to take a picture)
but my situation appeared exactly the same.
