AT THE CAR WASH

Back in March we had a super horrible cold snap. It was so cold that the windshield washer fluid in my car froze. When I say ‘my car’ I am now referring to the car I inherited from Mom. It came to us from Oklahoma where they can just put any old washer fluid in their vehicles because it never really gets to the level of cold we see here in northern Missouri. So for a week, I drove the car with windows I could barely see out of, occasionally collecting enough thawing snow water from the cars in front to run the wipers and smear the filth across the windshield. What can I say? I like to live dangerously. I had a car once where the windshield washer didn’t work at all. I carried a spray bottle of cleaner with me and would roll down the window while driving. Then I would take the spray bottle and stick my arm out the window and spray my windshield while running the wipers.

I know how to live without fancy things.

By the end of the week, the weather had finally warmed to tolerable and Michael helped me determine that there was nothing wrong with the washer pump. Then he suggested that we go buy new washer blades and get the car washed. The carwash of our choice was too busy to do interiors, but they were offering a special on their monthly pass that included the interior. It was such a good deal, that Michael yelled “Sold!” and handed over his bank card. Now, I was not sold. I had owned my car for over year when I met Michael. The second time we were together in my car, he asked “When’s the last time you washed your car?” I looked at him with my head tilted like a puppy and said “Wash….car?” I had not washed my car since I had purchased it. Car washing is not a thing on my radar. We don’t do that in Oklahoma. I mean, we do but not like people do here. People go once a week to the car wash! Every carwash you drive past is always packed with people and cars. It is one of the craziest things I’d ever seen.

I felt that the carwash membership was unnecessary.

Michael, who currently drives a truck with signs of rust damage from the previous owner, believes that washing your car on the regular saves the car’s life. I get it. There’s a lot of salt that gets thrown around onto our streets. Right now, everything is coated in a thick layer of pollen. I think if I listen closely, I can hear my dad agreeing with Michael. Any way, I agreed to stop at the carwash every Saturday morning after my Trader Joe’s adventures, being sure to include an eye roll while agreeing. The next weekend rolled around and I went through the carwash and then parked in one of the lanes. Then a teenager came over and cleaned the inside of my car while I waited inside with a cup of coffee. They waived me over when they were done and I got into a very clean car to drive home. And something flipped over inside my chest. I honestly am not sure how to describe it other than love.

I love the carwash.

I mean, I love it. I’m a little disgusted with just how much I love it. It feels so wasteful and bougie. It can’t be an environmentally sound action to take and I don’t want to love it. But I love it. The moment I release control of my vehicle and get pulled into the carwash, I drift off into a space of peace and tranquility. I marvel at the psychedelic soap bubbles as they stream down the windows and when I get back into the car after they’ve cleaned the inside, even when I don’t think it’s that dirty, I sigh with pleasure of being inside a clean car. At the end of that month, my carwash subscription was going to double because I’d reached the end of the promotion period. Michael and I had a serious debate about keeping the membership. I argued against it because…Paris. Michael argued for it because of the joy it brought to me. We compromised on keeping a carwash membership but down grading to just the unlimited wash (no extras like interiors). Michael said that once a month I could have the interior cleaned as an add-on.

There was some concern that just going through the automatic carwash would not be enough for me, that I would not experience the same euphoria. On Saturday morning, I released control of the car, picked up my mug of coffee and settled in for the ride. I sipped coffee and drifted off to a lovely Zen garden and when it ended, I just drove off. I was not sad about it, but I do kind of wish I could have stayed inside the carwash a little longer. When I said this to Michael, he reminded me that my membership is unlimited and I could just loop back around and go through again if I wanted to. I gasped at the thought of it. Go through the carwash twice?!? In the same day!?! That’s hedonistic!

I’m totally doing that next week.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Poops

2 Likes, 3 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Poops"

While most people are posting their high school graduation photos, I am sharing a photo of a food grinder. This isn’t just any food grinder. I’ve had this thing since early middle school. It was an important tool for a serious 4-H project where me and a few other girls talked about Oklahoma grown stuff. We would set up tables at county and state fairs. Someone talked about dairy. Another girl focused on pecans. I believe there was even a table about cotton. My table was all about wheat and showed the farm to table process from growing it in a small bucket to making it into bread. I used that little food grinder to grind up wheat for making bread that I would hand out as samples. Sometimes, the dairy girl would churn butter and there would be butter for the bread. I did this because I was Lisa Simpson. I am 100% certain that an episode of the Simpsons exists with this very same story line. Any way, the project ran its course and the little food grinder got put away in the far recesses of my Mom’s kitchen cabinets. Occasionally it would make an appearance to grind up something like chocolate or nuts.

When we cleaned out the old house, Mom finally let me have the grinder, like she felt that by the age of forty I had finally proven myself responsible enough to take possession of it. I use it about as often as it was used after the wheat table ended. Mostly, I use it to grind up spices and the flaxseeds I use to wash my face (yes…I am hippie). The little grinder has been getting used daily now that I have to grind my own coffee beans. Then, the other day, my trusty little grinder broke. That black piece laying there on the side is meant to be attached to the lid and is required to make the grinder grind. That very important little piece broke. I know what you’re thinking. How can this possibly be something for a post on gratitude?

Well… I can think of a couple of reasons why this is something to be grateful for.

First of all, the grinder still works! I can hold that little black piece in place and engage the ‘run’ button. Sure, it’s janky, but who cares as long as is it still gets the job done. Secondly, it reminds me to be grateful for the little things that make our lives easier. I am privileged to have coffee beans and I am privileged to have a means for grinding those beans. Heck, I’m privileged to have any kind of coffee at all. I am stocked up on coffee right now. So I don’t want to wait until I am almost out or completely out of something to be grateful. My little grinder is The Little Engine Who Could and I don’t want to wait until it can’t to appreciate its usefulness. I mean, that’s usually when we notice those things. When we are without, we realize how much we appreciated something. I want to remember to appreciate stuff now, while I have it, while it is working.

If I remember to do that, I can remember to be grateful for the big stuff.