Lessons in Humility

The Plan: A morning driving around our happy little town in search of a show stopping garage sale or two, the possibility of a treasure for a quarter enticing, the feel of Spring tickling us on.

The Reality: The infamous gray drizzle put a definate damper on the saling spirit (yes, I made that word up), and sales that had been advertised failed to make their appearance, which resulted in a lot of driving and not much treasure hunting.

The Players: Four Salers (M.I.L, neice, daughter, me),  a handful of extras milling about, and two rescuers looking not much like Superman as they were not wearing blue tights, but quite chic nonetheless. Apparently, the new vogue for superheros includes the sporty cloche *.

The Problem: How long had my low fuel light been on? Who's to know. Too long. I knew I was on empty, but between keeping up with a steady stream of conversation and pealing my eyes for the elusive moving sale (they can be so hard to catch), I had managed to ignore it for most the morning, although I believe I did mention the need once in passing. After stopping at one uninspiring sale of cast off boy toys, however, the need suddenly morphed into a real problem when my car just quietly....ceased to run, leaving me parked directly in front of a sale where not one item demanded my consideration. I appologised for my car blocking the driveway entrance to the whoever would listen and climbed back into my car to ponder my options. The steady trickle of conversation, punctuated with the occasional "NO!" from the youngest player, continued in the background of my thoughts.

The Solution: Several options presented themselves, all of them including me making a pretty long distance trek across town in ballet flats...in the afor mentioned drizzle...with a heavy gas can...  Lovely. At that point I decided that humbling myself and throwing myself on the mercy of my best friend's mother and sister was a much better option. They happened to be home, willing and equiped. Enter stylishly cloched rescue ladies bearing a large orange gas can!

The Lesson: Listen to your husband. Its so basic. And SO humiliating. It couldn't have even been a month ago that we had a conversation about how I drive much too long on empty, that it doesn't take that much effort to stop and fill up when the tank is 1/4 full instead of waiting until the needle is below empty, that it doesn't really save any money ( I know its only in my head...). Why did he have to be so right so soon? The only thing to do is to humble myself, grovel a bit, and ask forgiveness for not heeding my protector's advice. The only other time I can remember dreading that man's return home from work was about a month ago when I had to confess to getting a speeding ticket.

There have been an awful lot of lessons in humility lately.
The Blessing: If this had to happen and the lesson must be learned, far better that it be in my home town with my dear friends nearby to come donate their gas to my cause and follow me to the closest gas station to be sure I made it. Actually, I've quite alot to be thankful for, the least of which was the adorable appearance of my new favorite hat: the super-cloche.

(*The cloche hat is a fitted, bell-shaped hat that was popular during the 1920s. Cloche hats were usually made of felt so that they conformed to the head. The hat was typically designed to be worn low on the forehead, with the wearer's eyes only slightly below the brim. Often, different styles of ribbons affixed to the hats indicated different messages about the wearer. Several popular messages included: An arrow-like ribbon which indicated a girl was single but had already given her heart to someone, a firm knot which signaled marriage or a flamboyant bow which indicated the wearer was single and interested in mingling.)

P.S. A long overdue post script must be added here. I simply cannot let proper grammer and spelling interupt my creative train of thought and proof-reading is my mother's job. Seeing as she is not often available at the time of post, you must be subjected to all my faux-pas if you choose to read this blog. I just didn't want you to think I didn't know they were there. Its simply a matter of not caring. Oh dear, I sense another lesson in humility coming on...