Here in the south we keep being taunted by signs of spring – which is better than being mocked by signs of winter – which is what northerners do as soon as a single snow flake even threatens to fall in Atlanta.
Yesterday was one of those teaser days with the sun polished bright, temperatures well above my age and a nice pleasant breeze no doubt blowing up from a tiki bar somewhere in Mexico. It was one of those days when my outdoor hobbies were calling me – bird watching, bonsai watering, yard working, porch sitting, and wine drinking.
But SADly (as in Seasonal Affective Disorder for you mocking Yankees), it was my monthly hide the gray day at Pam’s hair salon. I love to go visit Pam but there were just so many other things on my bucket list for that day – many of which actually involved the use of a bucket.
At least there was a perk of driving up to Pam’s on a sunny Saturday morning – I got to listen to NPR’s Car Talk. Doc. B. can’t stand this radio show and takes Tom and Ray seriously when they close by saying Well, it’s happened again – you’ve wasted another perfectly good hour listening to Car Talk. Since I was all alone in the car, Doc B. had no say, or so I thought.
The first caller, Conrad, caught my interest right away when he announced, with a British accent, that he was calling from Barre, Massachusetts (the city where Doc. B. goes regularly to attend meditation retreats). Conrad’s Car problem was that his ’86 red Honda Civic had been sitting out in the wintry cold weather for three months and the emergency break was frozen. After giving Conrad some fix it ideas, Click and Clack asked him why his car had been parked and idle for so long. Sure enough, Conrad reluctantly confirmed that he’d been in silent meditation for the past three months. The Tappet brothers told him: that’s what you get for Nirvana.
I was in such tears of laughter that I pulled into the Chick-Fil-A parking lot, which I haven’t done since the whole boycott thing, and called Doc. B who reminded me how often my pop culture interests collide with her spiritual interests. Like the time when Doc B. was on a healing journey to Vietnam with other children of veterans. During Doc B’s trip I was binge-watching Mad Men, a television show set in the 1960’s. In one of the episodes there was a TV on in the background announcing the news that a Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Quang Duc, had self-immolated on a busy Saigon street. Doc B. had been standing at that very spot, now a memorial for the monk, the day before.
Tonight our opposed interests will collide yet again as I watch the Oscars while Doc. B. meditates.