It's All About Attitude

She sprang it on me during our morning walk. I'd only recently awakened and was still fumbling for the mental light switch when, turning the final corner and coming into the home stretch, Ms. Wonder asked if I had plans for the day.

I sensed trouble. You know how it is when you have your day planned and someone casually asks for what seems like a simple favor? Somewhere between the thought of it and the actual doing of the thing, something goes terribly wrong. I imagine that’s what Shakespeare experienced right before running errands for his wife.

“You bet," I said with pretend confidence. "I'm booked solid until 5:00 PM.”

"Can you make time to run an errand for me this morning?" She asked.

"Well, I suppose I could shuffle out to Port City for an espresso. Can I get a coffee for you?" I offered this as a peace treaty, hoping to escape with minimal commitment.

"Nope, but you can pick up a few things for me at HT’s while you're out."

"I'll try to fit it in," I said cautiously, "but I'll need to check my calendar first to see if it's possible." 

"Oh, good, you have nothing important to do," she said, seeing through my charade with characteristic ease. "I'll make a list for you.”

This is going to be awesome…

I gathered my shoulder bag and other essentials for a visit to the caffeine dens of Ocean Isle, then walked out to where Wynd Horse was parked in the driveway, patiently waiting for another day of adventure.

Amy was waiting on the sidewalk and climbed into Wynd Horse alongside me. I placed my water bottle in the cup holder and slung my shoulder bag over the back of the passenger seat. Mom's checkbook took its ceremonial position on the passenger seat. I performed my pre-journey ritual, part superstition and part performance art, and we were set to go.

Amy greeted me with a smile and turned to look at me with sparkling eyes. She said, "This is going to be awesome. I love road trips." Her enthusiasm seemed genuine, which is rare for her—like a solar eclipse.

"I brought some snacks and games we can play in the car. And I left a note for Grendel telling him to stay out of our bedroom and go haunt someone else."

"First, just to get things straight between us," I said, feeling the need to establish boundaries with my own imagination. "The snacks are mine; I want nothing to do with those so-called games to play in the car; and Grendel isn't real. He's someone you made up trying to get a rise out of me, and that's not happening. Are you buckled up?"

"Ha!" she exclaimed with the smug satisfaction of a figment of imagination who's bamboozled her host. "Gotcha! I don't buckle up, remember? I'm...let me see, how do you write in your blog? I'm just a pea-sized cluster of gray cells in the middle of your brain.”

On the road to find out…

I pretended to ignore her while plugging the addresses into the navigation app and then backed out of the drive. 

"We're on our way to find out," I said aloud as we drove through Magnolia Gardens. My navigational decisions have always had that improvisational jazz quality to them.

"Siri, send a message," I said. "To Poopsie Wonder. Tell her we're headed to HT's to pick up her goodies."

Minutes later, a message came in from Wonder: "You're going the wrong way," she said. She either put a tracking device in my car, or she's developed a sixth sense about my whereabouts.

I messaged back, "Waterford Coffee Cafe is the first stop. I need one for the road." A perfectly reasonable detour—no expedition should begin without proper caffeination. I imagined Wonder trying hard not to laugh. 

"Stay in touch," she finally replied, which translates as, "Try not to end up in South Carolina."

Sailing down Ocean Highway, we passed a road crew asphalting the entrance to a new convenience store, and traffic on that side of the road was backed up to the Middle Ages.

Soon, a message from Wonder asked, "How's it going?"

"Siri," I said, "Message Wonder. Tell her traffic is forcing us to bypass the recycling center and go to Shallotte for the shopping." 

The change of plans wasn't entirely necessary, but why waste a perfectly good excuse to rearrange the journey? Flexibility is the essence of adventure, after all.

Always look on the bright side...

“Twenty-two more miles," Amy said. "Is this trip ever going to end? My legs are asleep, and I'm hungry, too. I need an egg and feta sandwich from PCJ Cafe. Please tell me we’re almost there."

 

"We're almost there," I replied cheerfully, even though I was lying. "We've set a course for Southport. I think it's a better option than Shallotte—there’s too much traffic on Ocean Highway this morning."

 

"Omigod," Amy groaned dramatically, as if she were Pauline tied to the railroad tracks. "Southport? There's road construction on 211 where the bridge washed out. I can't feel my legs anymore, Genome. Please, make this misery end!

"You don't have legs," I pointed out, hoping that one logical comment would encourage her to stop complaining. I know that logic seldom wins against imagination, but hope springs eternal.

"I wasn't meant to be trapped in a car," Amy continued. "I'm one of those women who's got to be out and about. I'm a mover. Let me out here. I'll walk the rest of the way."

"Look on the bright side, Amy,” I said. "When we get home, you can apply for a disabled parking sticker.”

"I've always wanted one of those," she said, and by her tone, I knew she was cheered by the thought. The imaginary are easily distracted by imaginary perks.

"Ha!" I exclaimed with the smug satisfaction of a host who's bamboozled a figment of his own imagination. "Gotcha! You can't apply for a sticker of any kind, remember? You're just a...let me see, what did you say before? You're just a pea-sized cluster of gray cells in the middle of my brain."

It's all about attitude...

It was nearly 2:00 PM when we finally completed our errands and arrived home. Amy had fallen asleep, so I was careful not to wake her. She had a challenging day dealing with heavy traffic, roadwork, and the roundabout route we took to get everything done.

 

Despite the challenges, I had a great day. It may surprise you to hear that Amy can be fun as long as I maintain the right attitude. I especially enjoy her company on days when I manage to catch her off guard with something she didn’t see coming. 

I’ve recently come to realize that Amy is an essential part of my life. If I were to lose her, I would truly miss her, just like I miss many other things I’ve lost over the years. I value having Amy around; she brings her own sweetness and light to every situation.

I appreciate having you around, too. Please come back often and leave a comment to let me know I haven't lost you.