|
 My
husband, Mac, loved to wash our cars. The garage is full of sponges,
brushes, chamois, shampoos, soaps, waxes, etc. There was a special
time of day he would wash it, then a special time and place to wax
it, polish it and so on. It was quite a ritual and he loved it. Our
car was never dirty. Growing up, my dad was the same way. His
ceremonial car washing is legendary. I knew both were looking down
from Heaven with heavy hearts at my grimy car.
I asked different friends and neighbors about what products and
tools to use to wash the car in my driveway. They politely
sidestepped my inquiry. I asked others how the new car washes
worked. I hadn’t used one in over four decades. Again, I received
noncommittal replies. I gathered this wasn’t very important to
anyone but me and to pull up my big girl panties and get my car
washed.
Do you remember the 1976 hit, “Car Wash” by Rose Royce? “Those cars
never seem to stop coming….Keep those rags and machines running.”
I blindly chose a car wash here in town. I chose unwisely. There
were a couple of teens waving me wildly into the drive. They had me
look at a screen…. under the sun…I could see nothing…they waited for
me to put on my sunglasses…I still couldn’t see anything. They
wanted me to choose from many options. I, of course, chose the least
expensive. Another, bad choice.
I advised them I was old and this was my first time. They looked at
one another rolled their eyes, and gave me their condolences. “Go
where the man leads you. Put your car in neutral. Keep your hands
off the steering wheel and your feet off the brakes. You will be
fine.” It was literally too late to back out. The teen that guided
me in will be my nemesis forever. He kept motioning me to come
closer. I approached cautiously and prudently. He was not happy. As
I literally inched my way forward, his wiggling fingers became
waving hands, and then a full arm circle to get my car on track. He
screamed at me to put my car in neutral. As I turned to huffily tell
him my car WAS in neutral, the first smack of suds and rubber
tentacles hit my car. I screamed. It was horrific. I couldn’t see
anything but suds, swirling water, brushes and rubber slapping my
beloved car. My Mac was ever so loving with it, and now it was
literally being beaten and whipped. I cried. I. Miss. Mac.
Red, green, and yellow lights flashed through the chaos
overstimulating my senses. The noise was relentless, and I had no
control over anything. I clenched my fists and curled my toes. I
wanted to drive out of that hellish situation. I remembered the big
Ram Dodge ahead of me. I couldn’t see it, but I was sure I was about
to rear-end it. What would my insurance agent say and how much would
my premiums rise?
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I finally made it to the light at the end of the tunnel and praised
Almighty God I was through. I had other errands to run but drove
straight home and went directly for a glass of white wine. I sat in
my back yard missing my old life, proud of me for at least trying,
and mourning the loss of my beloved bear that proudly rode on my
antennae and had been grizzly decapitated during the car wash
fiasco.
The following morning, I set out for LaPrairie. It’s about an hour’s
drive and the weather was gorgeous. All went well until I entered
Bureau Junction. “Fresh Oil” signs were everywhere. It broke my
spirit. The fresh oil went on until I hit the Putnam County line.
Probably about seven or eight miles but it seemed like a hundred
miles to me. Again, curled toes and white-knuckle driving….. like
that was going to help. I even sucked my stomach in a bit and turned
off the radio, but all to no avail. My poor car. My terrifying
experience at the car wash the previous day was all for nothing.
I arrived at LaPrairie Presbyterian church and my heart melted and
tears flowed. I was home. Vivid childhood memories at the church
filled my soul. I didn’t care if my car was shiny or filthy. I stood
and just looked at that charming building on the prairie and took in
the beauty of it. I walked in a bit hesitant wondering if I would
know anyone or anyone would know me. They did! Donna, Kay, and
Roberta called me by name and welcomed me to sit with them. My dear
Lucy came in to play the organ, and we literally screamed, hugged,
and did the happy dance. It. Was. Wonderful.
Priest and poet, George Herbert, “The best mirror is an old friend.”
Well, I’m here to tell you I must be beautiful because it was a bit
like heaven on earth in my old country church in the arms of people
I grew up with. The sermon was given by the son of another old
friend. It was motivating, challenging, and inspirational. Thank
you, Gary.
Five of us went out to lunch afterwards. We couldn’t talk fast
enough. We informed and confused one another trying to fill in the
gaps in our lives. We are all widows and we comforted, enlightened,
and cheered on one another. Napoleon Bonaparte said, “Courage is not
having the strength to go on; it is going on when you don’t have the
strength.”
On the way home, it rained. Not torrential. Just the sprinkle that
splatters your car and leaves its marks. I didn’t care. My friends
still love me. I went back to singing “Car Wash”, “At the car wash,
woah. Talking about the car was, yeah. Come on, y’all, and sing it
for me…car wash, ooh, car wash, yeah.”
L. Maxine McQueen
may be contacted at
maxmac.1@juno.com |
