Haven’t I written about a light in the window before? There’s something about it that warms; makes me feel all is right and good. So much pressure to put on a 20 watt, amiright?

The semi-obsession started when my father herded us into the station wagon before dawn one morning. I was still years too young for high school so didn’t know what was going on; only to obey.

We were headed to Bedias, about 100 miles north of Houston. For much of the drive we took I45 which is now about 20 lanes each way… but back then we were the only car on the two-lane thoroughfare, a country road with nothing but trees on either side. Houston hadn’t become a megalopolis yet, swallowing everything it could reach.

I saw the place as we meandered down the private dirt road to the farmhouse. The sun was rising and there were no trees for miles, just an elderly two story wood house. And a light in a window, emanating an invitation. It was so charming.

Later I discovered the lamp in the kitchen window; a huge kitchen – old but warm and comfortable with high ceilings complete with table and chairs. It had to be the center of the house. You could feel the thousands of meals families had shared, laughing and talking. I loved it completely.

Since then I keep a light in the window. It reminds me of simpler times and people, of a time when I45 was no more than a country lane.

…if you feel there is something left unsaid, there is… i just don’t know how to say it.

I had an appointment for a cat scan this morning… and it was pouring rain. Donning running shoes and raincoat (I’m one of the roughly 3% of Floridians who wear raincoats) I made my way there in the darkness wearing… sunglasses, because I lost my regular driving specs.

I know.

The parking lot was over-full. One of those areas containing more businesses than the spaces could accommodate. Given the weather, people were negotiating for a good slot. I was very lucky to come upon an suv starting to reverse out of its space and courteously waited an appropriate distance back. It had seen me and knew the score. Suddenly, in comes a car and it sits almost directly behind the suv. Poacher!! The driver looked at me and I pointed to the suv. She didn’t care.

We three sat there for about 10 minutes until the suv did a 20-point turn and the poacher whipped into the space. Given all the givens, it was enough to put me off humanity altogether. The mini and I parked a mile away and by the time I got inside the facility I felt like a sponge, completely full of water.

Have you ever been in NO MOOD and had to go somewhere you didn’t want to go and do something you didn’t want to do and walked in to find the place packed? Of course you have; ’tis our lot in life. It knocks the wind out of us!

Into this little bucket of hell walks our dripping idiot, full of enmity for her fellow man. Requisite paperwork accomplished, I’m presented with a half gallon of lemon-lime crud. To be ingested within thirty minutes. (The trick is to not breath through your nose.)

While choking the crud down I chose to sit in an alternate waiting room, next to the door so to see outside. That is invariably my choice, especially when rooms are over crowded.

A fortunate choice, because I witnessed people helping each other. Not the cow that stole my space, of course, but others. A man held upright with the aid of a strange looking walker didn’t want to leave because of the rain. A woman coming in withe two umbrellas (after dropping off) held the second one for him so he could leave. People held doors for each other and an earnest looking young man walked in with a dozen roses and presented them to his love. Also, my tech Patty was cheerful and helpful, two things which I value greatly. Apparently the milk of human kindness has not run dry.

By the time the iodine stopped making me feel like I peed myself the mini welcomed me and we were for home. I made coffee and put in a load of wash. Home again, home again, jiggity jog!

Everyone has their version of luxury, whether it takes the form of travel, expensive dinners or nights at the theater. Mine? Being able to stay home.

My little piece of terra firma binds me to it, probably a throw back from growing up on a farm in the country. There was never anywhere better than the farm. Not for me, anyway. Life was hard but I gloried in the land and everything contained upon it; the animals, plants and my dad’s shop. If you couldn’t find me, odds were pretty good I was on the land, either on horseback or afoot.

So, now that old age has its steely grip upon me.(!) I don’t leave the place often. Most of our groceries are delivered and I usually only go to the doctor once a year. Until this week.

A different doctor was called for so I went, of course. Can’t really put these things off, unfortunately. Whereas my once a year doc has a massive waiting room, this new doc’s place looked woefully small. Long, thin room and there were over 20 people mashed in there with me. I almost left… many times.

The next day I told my husband about my nightmare: I’d had to shoot my way out of that room with a *Glock 9mm. It was like the last chopper out of Saigon.

He told me that I am sheltered. He’s absolutely right. Though my youth was spent in honky-tonks and gyms, my life is winding down how it began; on my own property, minding my own business. Wishing the world well, but watching it burn from afar. Selfish? Yes, but my sanity depends upon it… all I need now is a horse. 😉

*I don’t own a Glock.