After weeks of procrastination, I finally took The Toaster through a car wash on Saturday.
I was busy Mr. Miyagi-ing the tar specked panels when the music started to play. It was upbeat and catchy and most of all, I could hear it above the car wash's mechanical din.
As I crouched at my rear bumper with sealant and sponge in one hand and a microfiber cloth in the other, I smiled a little internal 'thank you' for people who share their music at the car wash with those of us who neglected to turn any on - or have a lack of car battery confidence. It sets a nice vibe.
After a little while, the music dimmed. In the quiet space left behind, I heard the gentleman at the vacuum next to me compliment the music. He walked over to the man who'd briefly served as car wash DJ and shook his hand.
They talked about music and playing guitar. When Mr. DJ Man mentioned he wanted to take guitar lessons but was looking at ways to do so with his amputated finger, and when Mr. Vacuum Man mentioned not only does he give lessons but just happened to be en route even now to a job interview with a local music store, well... I had been quiet too long already.
After all, I had purchased Rye's percussion kit from that very same store once upon a time!
And I know no less than four amputated finger stories - all different men, all different fingers...
As synchronicity would have it, only a few weeks back, our church had the opportunity to host a children's choir from Africa - where amputated fingers figure in as royal status. I still had the poster Rye bought at their merch table in my messy, messy little clown car.
This far exceeded my default quota for "meant to be" - by which I mean, obviously we were all meant to be friends from here til Kingdom come... so obvious.
I had no choice but to speak. Moving my gratitude from internal dialogue to the more abrupt and awkward external channel, I stepped over and said that I, too had enjoyed the music.
We introduced ourselves then.
Mike was headed to the job interview and Maurice told us the song was 'Mullholland Drive' by October London, a young man who covers Marvin Gaye with a style his own.
We promised to look him up at our earliest convenience. I have made it convenient for you to do likewise.
(link to 'Mullholland Drive ' by October London: https://youtu.be/L0IJisroj9w?feature=shared
Since I had already waded into awkward well past knee deep, I asked them if I could take their picture for my photo project @SoHo Journal - an eternal work in progress about good neighbors, southern hospitality and unanticipated sunlight. They agreed and posed for a quick candid shot.
(link to SoHo Journal: https://sohojono.blogspot.com/ )
We talked about the guitar club at the local library and Maurice's missing finger. This was the perfect segue to share about Key of Hope children's choir - I showed them the poster and started Amputated Finger Story Hour.
( link to Key of Hope: https://www.keyofhope.org/)
Three fingers down, Mike had to get to his interview. We wished him luck, took his contact info and bid him adieu. I sure hope he gets the job - if he wants it.
Maurice and I chatted on a while longer - we both had relatives who lost fingers to dynamite, back in the day.
He shared with me how God had blessed him with the truck he was washing and we talked about lawn care come Spring.
We talked about Fisher's bricked Lincoln and Maurice's recently departed father. We, too exchanged contact info and returned to vacuum our vehicles.
See? I told you - meant to be.
Community - brought together by music. It's a lovely thing.
Just as I dropped the token that came free with the automated brushless wash into the canister vac, a Wrangler with a duck-lined dash pulled in to the empty bay where Mike had been.
The young man held a pack of chewing gum out to me "Would you like a piece?" I took one to be polite (but I didn't chew it . Ine must be cautious, you know.)
"My name is.... " he continued, and now I can't remember his name - it was Nathan or Nick or something with an "N" - and he seemed very nice but the vacuum only had 3 minutes. He didn't say anything more, and I had already been out in the wild too long.
So I headed back home with two new friends and a stick of gum. I also met a homeless lady - she said I could call her B. Love - digging through the trash cans. I actually think we've crossed paths before- a long time ago, but I can't talk about her here.
Even our Left Hand ain't supposed to know what the Right's got up to - but I do believe that even a long-procrastinated, messy car - full of nursery class snacks and abandoned winter wear is sometimes 'meant to be'
Besides, I wouldn't want the kids to worry.
Invite a viking to church just one little time and it's chaperones for life ;)
