It is so funny when you think you know what the universe is doing. It’s usually when you are in a flowing rhythm with everything and you start subconsciously setting rigid expectations.
Yesterday after leaving the beach, we headed to an outside art show that was taking place in Downtown Ormond. Parking was limited, and we ended up driving into an area behind a building that was difficult to turn around in. However, when we finally emerged, a car was backing out of a spot that was perfect. “Oh yes,” I said assuredly “the universe wanted us to go to this art show.”
As soon as we got out of the car we heard it. A hisssssssssssssssing noise. Driver’s side front tire, just evacuating air.
I got upset, and had my little tantrum in my head. The universe gave us a parking spot, but a hole in our tire?
So, we got back in the car in search of a gas station.
The “fix a flat” didn’t do a thing and the disposable tire repair kit was not working so well when a Smart Car pulled up in the space next to us.
The driver of the vehicle was an older man, who immediately reminded me of my dad. He stood over Jerry a moment, giving advice. Then, he told us to “saddle up” and head over to his place right up the road where he had a compressor and tools.
I have to admit that my first response was nervousness. I could tell Jerry was nervous as well, he continued to try and work on the tire. The man again told us it was no problem and he could help.
We got into our car and the first thing I did was text my mom the man’s license plate number. I called her and informed her of the situation. I tried to relax, I mean this guy reminded me of my dad, but I didn’t want that to turn off my caution.
We pulled into his house, an adorable older home a couple of streets away from the beach. I saw his last name on a sign. I heard dogs barking inside.
He got out more tools. We chatted a bit. He had a daughter around my age, who lived right up the road. Her husband, like mine, was a computer guy. We joked about his generation’s knowledge of cars, and ours of computers.
The tire was almost finished and he mentioned that three Junes ago his wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and she was buried this past November. We were cleaning up and he was wiping his hands when he said, “I figure it’s just a matter of time, the longer you live.”
My heart broke. I thought of my dad without my mom. I was glad his daughter lived nearby. I shook his hand, Pat was his name.
I texted my mother again, this time with Pat’s address and last name… so I could send him a thank-you card.