Himself and I enjoyed a lunch with friends yesterday. As it was the Labor Day holiday in the US, it was “picnic potluck” fare: cheeseburger, BBQ chicken, and cornbread for him; veggie burger, baked beans, potato salad and coleslaw for me. After the post-lunch schmoozing, we headed home, but made a side trip to the car wash Himself has a membership to. This membership gets him as many washes as he wants for the car in a given month, and he takes full advantage. (If he could import this meticulousness into some other areas of his life, I would be a happy wife indeed!) ;-)
The automated car wash is an ultra low-key amusement park ride. Look at all the pretty colors in the foam they use to clean the car! I see all the spinning brushes as various creatures straight out of the Monsters Inc. universe, various kinfolk of Cousin Itt toiling away to clean and shine the cars that pass through. (Yes, that’s a bonus Addams Family reference. You’re welcome.) Once we pass through the final rainforest rinse and the dragons’ breath jet dry, we turn right to the vacuuming stations.
We were far from the only folks who had the idea of cleaning the car on Labor Day. Here is where the Disabled Veteran license plates came in really handy, as there was one blue parking spot open for us. (As we often joke, “They knew we were coming.”) Once parked, Himself manned the vacuum cleaner hose and I womanned the little towels that are provided to detail the car - wiping down the drippy parts, cleaning the stains that were too stubborn to be hosed off but will often yield to the mighty fingernail if the personalized scrub doesn’t cut it, and cleaning the interior: seats, dashboard, consoles, and steering wheel. I also bagged and tossed all the miscellaneous Starbucks cups from the back so Himself could take the floor mats to the special mat cleaner.
I stole moments to glance at the other cars present: Fords and Infinitis and Toyotas and Hondas and Chevys (and other Mazdas, of course); sedans and compacts and SUV’s and pickup trucks. The people with the cars were equally varied. It struck me that our cars connected us. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you believe in, where you work. Most car people still fill the gas tanks. Most car people clean their cars now and again. Most car people take their cars to a mechanic’s shop for tuning up and repairs. These are hubs of Connection, where we cannot help but come together. We might be as ships passing in the night with other car people, but these subtle interactions do their part as well. We are not alone in the world. We can be Visible to others. We can reach out, chat, weave another strand of the web.
Hubs of Connection are also possible if you don’t have a car, by chance or by choice. Who waits and rides with you on the bus, the train, the ferry? Who might be open to an energy exhange? Who can be supported in silence, if you prefer?
Himself and I finished our work and came home. I brought in the container with the cornbread he hadn’t been able to eat at the luncheon. We went about the rest of our day indoors, our car waiting patienly until the next adventure. Here is our shiny car, which answers to Poseidon, or one of our key fobs:
Personally, I wouldn’t have named the car after the Greek god of the Oceans, but being the Navy veteran, Himself insisted. In truth, we’re far enough inland that we don’t have to worry about tsunamis.
Last note: never name a car “Phantom.” It won’t end well. I speak from personal experience…
What a beautiful observation, Victoria! It reminds me of something I read once where the author said she always approached strangers with an attitude of "we're in this together". People like you who see these connections make the world a delightful place! (My own attitude is a perpetual work in progress.😁) I do hope one day to know the tale of Phantom! 🚗✨
“Once we pass through the final rainforest rinse and the dragons’ breath jet dry” - love this imagery! 💛