Our recycle man has blue eyes.
On the approach to our house, the last section of road is one lane. It’s also a hill. There’s an unspoken rule, if the driver at the top of the hill sees another driver moving up the road, they need to pull over and let that person pass before heading down the hill. The whole process involves observing, stopping, waiting and always ends with a wave of thanks.
There aren’t very many single lane roads. This piece of road, our road, is my very favorite part of where we live.
I’m not all that friendly, or neighborly for that matter, which is fine because my nearest neighbor is a couple of miles away. But I like the road. I enjoy the contact of waiting for someone, it’s sort of like holding the door. It involves putting my stuff on hold for just a bit while someone else travels past. I love that because most of the time my stuff is super duper important.
I’ve got a lot of things to do, and I’m rushing, and I’m busy, and I have things on my mind, and I’m the sole center of the entire world on the days I’m pissy, or bitchy, or any other number of moods. Until I hit that hill.
Things slow down at the top of the hill, they have to because it’s the rule.
I’ve sat at the top of our road and waited for horses, ATVs, tractors, utility trucks, UPS and FedEx. Sometimes I’m there in early morning or late at night. If I’m lucky I pull over right as the sun is setting and while I’m waiting I get to see the sky turn into the magic I often miss in my rush to do more.
When someone is approaching, I can’t go. Not because someone is making me stop or because I’m stuck, it’s just how it is. I never resent it and I’m not cursing them to get up the hill faster. It’s a life pause, the strangest thing.
I was driving home from dropping Maggie off at school. The recycle guy had finished his route and had just turned around to head back up the hill.
I saw him, I waited. John Mayer was on, I sipped my tea and as he pulled over the arch I realized our recycle guy has very pretty eyes. He smiled, waived. I waived back and proceeded down to my home.
Animals wait all the time, so do children or the elderly for that matter. Things in middle adult life can get out of hand. It seems important to wait, let someone pass. I’m grateful for my road.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Waiting for Bed.
adulthood cars driving learning life patience people thoughts waiting culture life people roads thoughts waiting whatever