The other day I get a hankering for some Thai food and call
my favorite little eatery to place an order.
“You hold. One moment, please…” comes a polite voice on the
other end before the phone is dropped with a soft thud. I can hear the raucous chatter of the cooks
as they fill orders and the hum of customers in the dining room. I can almost smell the sesame oil as I listen
to the white hot sizzle of food frying over open flames. I wait and wait— a full five minutes passes—
“Hello is anyone there?” I call out over the open line. I am feeling
abandoned and not a little irritated by the neglect. “Hang up and call them back.” My husband Frank advises.
I make repeated attempts but keep getting a busy signal, harkening back to the olden days before automatic voice messaging and call waiting. A sense of righteous indignation kicks in. I start in with the judgments—what is wrong with these people? I'm hungry. How dare they ignore me?
After bemusedly watching me sputter with frustration, Frank calmly takes the phone out of my clenched hands. “What do you want?” he asks as he dials the number.
“It doesn’t matter what I want” I snort, “You won’t get through.”
Immediately, someone picks up after the first ring and Frank pleasantly places the order. He hangs up, grins at me archly and croons, “It’s all about love, dear.” I glare at him before collapsing into helpless laughter. He does this all of the time. Whether it’s a parking spot magically appearing or the fastest check-out line in the supermarket, it seems the Universe is constantly conspiring with my husband to smooth out those annoying little wrinkles that threaten to ruin a day.
One time we spontaneously showed up in the resort town of Watertown Canada the day before Canada Day (the Canadian 4th of July). We managed to snag a room for one night but were warned by our friendly hotel proprietor that there was not a room to be found on the holiday. Undaunted, my husband cheerfully assured me that he would find us a room.
“Yeah, right”, I grumbled, envisioning an uncomfortable night in the car, “good luck with that one.”
While my approach was to run around town in a panic, confirming the worst, Frank confidently walked into the Visitor Center and got a solid lead on what was probably the last room in town. An hour later, we were settling into a charming Victorian B & B in a quiet residential neighborhood with a gorgeous view of the lake and surrounding Rockies-- the sounds of a cascading waterfall soothing us through an open window.
It’s not like Frank receives special treatment from the Universe. He has had more than his share of heartbreak and he has been known to stress out and worry, especially when it comes to the kids he teaches. Yet my eternal optimist still chooses to walk on the sunny side of the street, demonstrating time and again that when we meet life with faith and an expectancy of good, it returns the favor by opening up more possibilities than we could ever imagine.
Lessons come to us in all sizes and shapes. Who knew that one of my greatest teachers
would be the tall, lanky guy contentedly munching cashews and watching football
downstairs in his man-cave?
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