octolilly [through the years]

The Old Testament makes it exceptionally clear that when you make a vow, you should keep it. Hem hawing about is not only offensive but it’s also dangerous if you’ve vowed your vow to the Almighty.

Keeping that in mind, I’m vowing to never eat breakfast at McDonald’s again.

As of yesterday morning, I hadn’t had fast food breakfast in a while and because I was running late and hungry as pie I decided to swing by the Golden Arches and grab a hot, delicious biscuit to enjoy on my morning commute. Remembering that a biscuit wasn’t the healthiest choice possible, I wisely asked to have water with my breakfast instead of Dr. Pepper, which certainly does give a Down the Throat Morning Burn when necessary.

But one sip of the water assured me that they must have ran to the bathroom and filled the cup up with tap water because it taste of metal, chemicals, and God knows what else. I spit the water back in the cup and casually flung it out the window. I still had high hopes for the biscuit.

While going through my morning routine at work, I found a few minutes to begin nibbling on the biscuit. My first clue that the breakfast was going to be memorable was the amount of grease sitting around the bread. I literally thought I was going to gag when I saw the sausage. But my stomach was growling loudly and I was afraid my sugar would drop too low. So I delved into it.

But as I slowly consumed the biscuit, I could feel my body revolting against me. With all the strength I could muster I managed to keep my food down. But that was the Most Disgusting Breakfast I have ever had.

Let me assure you. This woman will not be eating McDonald’s breakfast again. EVER.

Although my experience with breakfast turned rather sour, my lunch was absolutely riveting.

I’ll ignore the fact that the Subway Girl forgot to add chicken to my salad (small fuss) and just focus on the great fun I had at the local gas station.

My gas tank had passed the red zone, skimmed down near the Thick Line That Represents Sudden Stoppage, and was hovering near Death Itself when I finally pulled into a gas station. Honestly, I don’t intentionally wait until the last minute to fill up- it’s simply that I’ve had to run around on the Travel Team a lot during the past two weeks and I keep forgetting to check my gauge. Yeah, I know. Stupid reason.

It took me two attempts at parking my car beside the tank for me to realize which side my tank was on. I’m still getting used to this car. Goodness, my Camry was so easy. The tank was always on THAT side and I just had to reach down and press the button, and I was set. Now, I have to go through the is it on that side or this side for a few minutes, fumble in the floor for the button and then realize drat! this car doesn’t have a button.

I’m not complaining. I adore my new car. But I just wanted to explain the state of mind I had reached when I began pumping gas.

I’m standing there, pumping gas like a pro, hair blowing in the wind, when Mr. Born and Raised in Piedmont pulls up. His small S-10 truck looked like it was on its last leg. He opened the door, waved widely and shouted, “Hey little lady!”

A smile, a wave, and a quick hello were all I offered. But it wasn’t enough. He swaggered over and said, “I know a little lady like you can afford to pay for my gas too.”

I didn’t know whether to slap my knee in laughter or run. But as he talked I discovered he was just a jovial old man who liked to gossip.

You know Peter who lives on the corner over there? His house caught on fire last night. And the cops were chasing two young hoodlums by Ronnie’s house last night. Ronnie swears they were drunk as skunks. The gas prices sure have went up, haven’t they? There was a time when you could buy gas for $5 and you didn’t have to tell the missus what you did with the other $5. And cigarettes sure have went up in price haven’t they? Cigars might just be the next choice. They smell better, anyway.

And after a day like that, you would think that supper couldn’t be any more interesting.

You’re right. It was rather droll. A tomato, green beans, and a few pieces of salmon. And for those of you (ahem, ahem) who are unsure of the pronunciation of “salmon” let me assure you that it is SAL-mon.

Working in this small town is always a treat. After all, this is where little old ladies call us and let us know when they write checks. Just because we might need to know.

I parked my car in the lot beside the Community Building this morning, grabbed my purse and notebook, and headed toward the bank. While walking across Main Street, I saw a blonde-haired lady near the Downtown Café. She was reaching to open the door when she saw me. Her eyes narrowed, she glanced at my car, and made a pft noise with her lips.

I wasn’t quite sure if pfting was common among Piedmonians, and whether I should pft back, so I sort of half-waved and smiled.

She cleared her throat and somewhat shouted down the street, “You always park over there, don’t you!”

“Well, yes,” I shouted back.

Her glare was a bit stronger now and she shot back with, “who cuts the grass beside that parking lot?”

I shrugged my shoulders and wondered if I should rush quickly into the bank and pretend as though I had a bank emergency. Of course, a bank emergency in Piedmont would never happen. (Unless it was 40 years ago when all hell broke loose and the largest drama of all times occurred)

But rushing wasn’t to happen. She hurried across the street and shared her story.

Apparently, whoever cuts the grass on the hillside beside the gym never gets grass on the bank employee’s cars- but they always intentionally get grass on her car. She’s sure of it. Notes have been left for the fools, she’s caught them in the act and berated them (they have swore their innocence), and she’s finally had all she can take.

That’s right. She’s going to the Fire Department. Those big boys can take care of everything. That’s the way it is in Piedmont.

Um. And now there is a helicopter flying above Main Street. That never happens. Everyone is standing outside looking up, wondering what drama has been brought our way. Helicopters normally mean a bank robbery. I wonder if I should go rush into the vault and read some Anna Karenina.

Paintbrushes are scattered all over my guest bathroom, my flute is freshly polished, the first chapter of Anna Karenina was somewhat interesting, and I found Gilmore Girls to be delicious.

But the night isn’t perfect.

The night would be perfect if I had a glass of sweet tea, a Mediterranean salad from Subway, and a plane ticket.

I’ve been delving into the Journals of Jim Elliot for the past few nights. It’s a thick book, full of his musings on faith, love, and the mission work he loved. I haven’t been able to keep the tears back as I read his struggles, saw his faith in action, all the while knowing that he would be murdered for his faith in just a few short years.

After having met Elizabeth several times, and having read all of her books, I couldn’t help but smile as I read Jim’s entries in October of 1951.

October 18
I am discovering Betty all over again these days. She has taken on a new meaning and power- and purity. Last two nights on top of Shelton delightful. Her body, once the thing that disturbed my thoughts of marrying her, seems now to fit the picture well. Thank God for her! Pure and warm and relaxed in my arms- I never guessed it could be. Waiting will be a trial, but loving her purifies me, somehow. “He who loves not lives not,” said Raymond Lull. Amen, oh, amen!

October 21
Preached at Kenilworth Hall, Kenilworth, New Jersey on John 8:31. Betty and Phil and Marg picked me up afterward, then to New York for Pete and then Franconia, New Hampshire. In the car she pressed my fingers to her lips…

October 22
Climbed Bald Mountain. Wind tangling her hair. Kerosine lamp shadows…by the fire.

October 23
The Flume, the Boiler, Lonesome Lake, the Old Man of he Mountain. Night by the fire. I cried a little at thoughts of leaving her.

October 24
Mount Washington. Happy frankness in discussion on the way down. The waterfall that formed two flows, then one, two, and emptied into the pool. Dinner at the hotel in Littleton. Storm at Echo Lake. She wore pearl earrings for me.

October 25
She sat at my feet while Pete read some, reclining in black skirt and sweater as Pete read the Ballad of the Northern Lights.