Peepers

I was driving home from the store last night and got caught staring at the person at the wheel behind me through my sideview mirror. So, I kept watching them but in my rearview mirror instead. They didn't seem to notice. Then this morning, I saw someone watching someone else in their mirrors. Busted! We're all bored commuters longing for a little interaction. Next time I get busted, I should wave or something. I'd love it if someone waved at me.

The little boy next door, Anthony, knocked on my door tonight and quite directly asked if I might pay him and his friends $5 each to wash my car. I said, "Well, that's a little steep for me because there are four of you." He didn't understand so I explained the math and he said, "Oh, can we wash it free?" I was trying to decipher his motivation - was it more about boredom than money? - when his buddy stepped up and explained that they were asking for $5 total and that they would split that amount between them - just the two of them, not Anthony's little sister Cassie or her friend. I went for that deal. I noticed that Anthony's buddy is the harder worker. They washed my car in about 10 minutes. At that rate, and if they lined up a few customers ahead of time, that's about $15/hour each. Not bad for 8 year olds! It was kind of cute.

Anthony even has all of his teeth now. He was mighty cute when he was missing two.

Feeling It

I’d like to call a porter to carry some bags for me, some of which have been with me for a long, long time. Lately this massive load of luggage is weighing me down. But porters, see, they know how to carry heavy things without hurting themselves. And they seem so gentle and understanding. Is there an angel named ‘Porter’ yet? There should be. When I call on him, he will always reply, "Can I get your bags, maam?"

When my mind is elsewhere and I forget my bags are with me, my little hands relax and my eyes and ears open wide for new projects and people to take in. Slowly my grip loosens and the handles I’ve been holding so tightly slip down toward my fingertips. Who knows how much time has gone by when I feel that hard plastic approaching the nerves that live near my weakest, smallest knuckle. “Uh oh!” I panic, of course, and hoist my bags back into my arms, onto my shoulders, and even into my ears for fear I might drop one of my precious packages.

Some of this luggage has been with me for so long that I don’t even remember what’s in there anymore. I believe I am carrying both happy and sad times that I love dearly and put away for safekeeping. But I’m beginning to wonder what other unsavory types might have crept in along the way. At some point, I’ll have to open everything up to see what's truly inside but since that’s much more than a weekend project, I’m just not sure when I’ll have the time to get to it.

So, I'm asking around to see if anyone knows a good porter. If so, I’ll tip their porter well. And, I will do my best to be a charming customer/companion with free hands, happily waving my empty arms in the air until I’m able to sort through my lovely bags, one at a time.