Just when you think you are on time, something inevitably delays you.
Even when you give your self enough time, there are always unforeseen circumstances.
When that happens you have to be flexible.
When that happens you have to adjust.

It was on a country road in Amish country that just such a thing happened.
I was headed to a Mennonite thrift store to donate some clothes and other items.
It was a gorgeous day though a little too warm for October.
The Amish farmers were harvesting; pumpkins and gourds lined the roadside stands.

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I heard the blood curdling scream.
NO!
Over and over someone was screaming that word.
It was the voice of a child.

I had just entered the store and could hear the child but could not see the child.
As I turned a corner I saw her.
She was in the large basket of the shopping cart, stomping her feet and screaming.
She was opening and closing the back of the seat where she was too big to sit.

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The first half of this blog post was originally published on March 8, 2014.
It has been expanded with additional thoughts and reflections.

It was the season for school plays.
Many of the area high schools put on elaborate performances.
They incorporate the talents of musicians, artists, and costume designers.
They tap into the talent of the actors, actresses, singers, and dancers.

I have fond memories of being in my high school productions.
I was usually part of the chorus.
I loved being dressed in costume and see the lights come up and the audiences fade.
Being part of the play required commitment.

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I used to see him as I drove down the highway.
I would see him picking up the trash along the road.
He kept a large area of the state road completely clean.
He sold whatever trash he could to junk dealers and neatly packaged the rest in plastic bags.

The money he received was not used for anything extravagant.
The money bought him a cup of coffee.
The man loved his coffee.
The man was homeless and lived in the woods along the side of the roadway.

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I remember that particular Christmas season.
Our neighbors, the ones with the same last name as ours, extended an invitation.
They invited our two oldest daughters to go to see The Nutcracker in Philadelphia.
It was a wonderful invitation that my girls were looking forward to as they counted the days.

The Sunday afternoon that they had been waiting for finally came.
They got dressed up in their Christmas dresses and went into the city.
I invited our neighbors back to our house for dinner that same evening.
I also extended an invitation to another couple to join us for dessert.

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It was a rainy morning.
The cars were all waiting at the intersection.
This particular intersection has a yield sign that is usually easy go through.
However, on this rainy morning there were about seven cars waiting behind a van.

I was the third car in line.
There was a truck behind me.
It is easy to judge when you are not the one making the decision.
I could see the man in the truck behind me in my rear view mirror.

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I see the chalk pavement picture as I am on my walk.
Since there has been no rain, the picture has been there for quite a while.
It is a child’s drawing of a rainbow.
Rather than red, orange , yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, this rainbow is all blue.

I smile whenever I pass the chalk pavement picture.
Even though it is only one color, the shape of the drawing tells me it is a rainbow.
Some may try to guess why the little artist drew the rainbow completely in blue.
I prefer to think that blue was perhaps her favorite color.

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It was an oil tank that caused all the problems.
An oil tank that we had in our basement.
The oil tank was in two different houses.
The stories happened at two different times.

We had moved from our apartment into our first home.
We stayed in that home for five years.
That house had oil heat.
Deliveries needed to be made monthly.

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This is the time of year you see the caution tape.
It is not because of a crime scene.
It is because people get their driveway coated.
The black, sticky tar cannot be walked on or driven on for a few days.

Spring and fall seem to be the time to get your driveway coated.
In our area, with our snowfalls each winter, the snow plows leave white marks on the surface.
No matter the season, the coating needs to be done so the driveway stays in good condition.
The smell of tar lingers in the air.

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As I was coming down my back stairs into my laundry room, I saw them.
I stopped in front of the door and looked out across the street.
I saw a bike resting against the stop sign at the corner.
I saw figures walking under the trees.

And I remembered.

When my youngest daughter was seven years old, she loved imaginative play.
She would tell elaborate stories that explained whatever she was doing.
Sometimes, her play would mimic a book we were reading.
Sometimes, she pretended that she was a character from a story we loved.

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