The Shop (the times soon after Dad died)
December 27, 2008
Some poor guy on Edmonds Way was digging his car out of a foot of slush in front of the auto body shop. (This was at 8AM. Whatever his day consisted of, the same guy was there shoveling the same car out at 11PM when we returned home that night).
Mom's regular ferry friends were not around Friday morning, having the day off for the holiday. We had a quiet ride over the Sound, and trudged to the shop, to find that the only appointment of the day was canceled. At some point in my life, I think I would have been annoyed that we woke up early, invested an hour in our commute, only to find out (what we could have easily predicted on this morning after Christmas) that our client decided to reschedule, allegedly because they couldn't get out of the driveway to come into town.
However, since arriving here only five days ago, the simplicity in Mom's new Dad-less life takes the urgency out of everything. Rather than imagining all the things I could be doing instead of sitting in an after-Christmas ghost town, I relished hanging out with Mom in her special, customized hideout from the craziness of Seattle life (aka our extended family).
I appreciate her salon now more than ever as the trophy awarded for any effort she has ever poured into any prior business venture; as a source of pride and honor, a badge of independence; as a culmination of all forbearances made for the benefit of us, her family.
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