Every spring is the only spring — a perpetual astonishment.
Yesterday after church we had to do something we would ordinarily tend to during the week. One of the gifts of retirement is the ability to transact business during slow times. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work out that way.
We waited in line and, when we finally made it to the front, were shuffled to the side to fill out paperwork while the person next in line took our spot. They called us called back when we were finished, and I overheard grumbling coming from someone in the line who thought we were jumping the queue. I could see how conflict could begin.
The young woman who helped us was good; she was efficient and knew her stuff. She didn’t smile at us once.
We came out of there feeling like we had been in a cyclone. Never again, we promised each other.
The day improved markedly after that.
We went to a matinée showing of I Can Only Imagine (It was our first time in a movie theatre in about fifteen years. I highly recommend this one.) On the way home we stopped for burgers and onion rings and fries—all those things that are so bad and that we usually steer clear of, but that were a perfect treat to finish up our Sunday afternoon date with.