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A World of Our Own

By Belinda

It was Friday; the last day of a busy work week. I got up early after another late night. I tried to insert contact lenses into my tired eyes, but my eyeballs rebelled and repelled. It felt as though there were little men on my eyeballs throwing the lenses back at me, so I took the hint and put on my black rimmed glasses instead.

I am usually a compulsive listener: to radio, music or books on CD; but on Friday, as I drove in the gray early morning light to meet my friend and colleague, Irene, at a carpool, I chose not to break the peaceful silence inside my car.

The roar of air flowing through the heat vents and the hum of snow tires on pavement were a soothing backdrop to my thoughts. It felt good to bask in silence and allow my mind to rest completely.

It was a chilly, blustery morning, complete with a driving drizzle. I joined the other drivers circling the carpool like sharks in search of prey, but when I realized that Irene was not there yet, I tucked my car into a parking spot and enjoyed a few more quiet moments while I waited.

A tall man in a flapping raincoat, leaned into the wind as he ran towards a waiting bus, clutching a briefcase in one hand and holding his coat closed with the other, his face scrunched against the rain; but I sat warm inside my car...

In no time it was the end of the day, and since Irene was driving, I peered out and drank in the beauty as we sped along the highway towards home.

The day was still stormy and dark, and leaves swirled around the car, plucked from trees by the rollicking wind. I marveled at the loveliness of the colour scheme God chose for the day: gold of every shade, and gray, offset by the black of tree trunks and branches.

The deliciousness of Friday evening lay ahead. For Irene this meant butter chicken and naan bread take-out, from India Gate, and popcorn from Kernels in the mall; then a movie at home with her sister, Ann.

My plans were equally splendid in their laziness and involved leftovers from the night before (a delicious turkey pot pie) and a movie at home with Paul. I fell asleep during the movie, snuggled under a blanket, with my feet up in a wingback chair. Sweet surrender!

On Saturday morning, Peter called and laughed out loud when I read the post to him that I wrote earlier this week, about the conversation we had on getting enough rest: Finding the Balance.

He said that there must be a word for the particular sweetness that comes from returning advice given, but neither of us knew it; perhaps it needs to be invented since he seems bent on practicing it!

"You know what made it even better?" he said, "It was perfectly ripe. It was not so soon after the advice was given that returning it appeared vindictive, or so long after that the irony would be lost!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I thought, as he crowed in delight, "Here we go again."

Our Friday evening cocooning made me think of this old but good song by The Seekers.


Marilyn said…
The word for the particular sweetness that come from returning advice given......'REVENGE'? Hahahahahaha

No, no. I think there's a marvelousness about the moment when grown children and parents can speak the same truth to each other and it's all okay. It's a sign you've become peers. You've parented so well that he is hearing your advice, taking it in and seeing when it needs to be offered to others! (I have been on the receiving end of this and it IS a humbling experience.)

p.s. I enjoyed your Friday morning commute right along with you - your own world - and esp the image of the man in the raincoat.
Belinda said…
I passed Peter a note on the bulletin in church this morning, telling him your suggestion for "the word," Marilyn.

Peter passed it back over the pew, with a note back: "A dish best served cold." :)

I'm so glad you enjoyed the commute. Thank you!

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