firehouse prayers

Yesterday was hectic. I spent the morning at work going through hundreds of student files and creating new intake packets for the entire next year (hey, my boss is using me while she's still got me--it's only another week before the big lay-off). Inside the office the phone kept ringing, the computers were slow, and the paper shredder was constantly roaring in the background. Outside it was hot and sticky, and a very loud team of landscapers/earth-drillers/concrete levelers had set up camp right outside my door.

I spent afternoon sorting boxes of artifacts gathered and never labeled in the 1970s, and then hauling buckets of water away from the dig site (stinkin' thunderstorms!) while simultaneously dodging a couple of very irritated spiders. Today my back and shoulders are still sore, but I managed to get rid of the mud and grime.

Between the two I got lunch. Ah, lunch (and all food in general)--the salvation and momentary solace of an otherwise busy day.......Yeah, right. I decided to hit up Firehouse subs, because sandwiches are delicious. Plus, last time I went they gave me this nifty punch card that gives me a free sub if I buy six (the hole-punch is shaped like a little fire hydrant!).

Wow, I'm typing a lot in parentheses this post.

Anyways, I only had a half hour to get my food, eat it, and get to Drayton Hall, and the line was abysmally long. Two TVs were set up in either corner of the restaurant, and the volume, in my opinion, was louder than necessary--though I suppose it had to be in order to be heard over the shouting of orders and low mumble of conversation. Plus that stupid bell kept ringing every time someone opened the door. I took my spot in line, trying not to check the my cell phone for the time every two seconds, and noticed in front of me a cute elderly couple. He wore a button-up shirt with red, yellow, and blue classic race cars on it, and she wore gold-sequined sandals. There was an air of calmness about them, an innate patience that seemed to encompass their own little world. His voice was low and kind, and the two were incredibly considerate of each other as they ordered and selected a table.

I almost forgot them as I hungrily waited for my order (I was going to have to eat it on the road, and was thinking bitterly that they'd better not put any stupid pickles and onions on it), but after a moment the flutter of motion caused by the waiter delivering their sandwiches caught my eye. The couple set their sandwiches carefully in front of them, and then reached across the table and clasped each other's wizened hands. Oblivious to the blaring television sets, the hustle and bustle, and nosy strangers, they closed their eyes an offered an unmistakable prayer of thanks to heaven.

They opened their eyes and began eating, and my name was called, so I took my food and was gone. But now I was smiling. I don't know who they were, or even what religion, but theirs was a small and unexpected act that reminded me of the many, many things I have to be grateful for.

Like my sandwich, sans pickles and onions, for starters. :)