Here's a relatively recent Lighthouse painting I did. I could have used one of a lighthouse, or even some direction on Tuesday night when I was navigating some rather narrow country lanes.
The way we approach life has a lot to do with how much we enjoy the experience. If you think you're going to have a good time, it doesn't mean that you automatically have a good time, but you have a better chance to have a good time if you start in the right frame of mind.
We usually get what we expect.
I came across one of those situations this last week. I certainly got what I expected.
On Tuesday night, I was driving from St. Evenage to Chorleywood to meet up with Lynn and Fred before The Pretenders/Fleetwood Mac concert. When you get off the M25 (Non-UK readers: Big-Ass Motorway Circling London) at Chorleywood, you head right off into one of these meandering Lilliputian Pathways. It's more of a capillary than an artery.
I'm convinced elves, trolls, and maybe even ancient Druids designed the paths they call country roads in England. Sometimes it seems you can't fit two horses next to each other on these tiny trails let alone two cars.
We don't stand a chance. The big ole SUV we drive doesn't stand a chance in hell in this land of paved Hobbit Trails. It's downright nail-biting to drive, and I don't know how local people get used to it.
I'm always on the edge of my seat. I'm constantly on the lookout because, invariably, some miscreant will come barreling down the road like a lunatic careening off the embankments.
As I was white-knuckling down the road on Tuesday, the traffic was pretty light. No worries, I thought. I've dodged the bullet again. We've made it through unscathed, and, in fact, we did. We got to Hannay Hilton right on time - no dings, no scrapes, no missing mirrors. Whew!
We then took the train to Wembley Stadium and had a great time at the concert. On the way back, on the train, I started wondering how I was going to attack the drive home down that long and lonely alleyway.
I was already starting to feel a bit nervous and claustrophobic.
But then, I thought it's dark; there won't be too many people on the road. It'll be easy. So we said our goodbyes to Lynn and Fred (kiss, kiss, hug, hug, bye, bye) and set off for home I had all the confidence in the world.
I put my high beams on so I could see if a deer, an endangered box turtle, or an even elven sprite might try to dart across the road. There was none of those, but another car was coming up the lane.
I had just passed a slight layby, so I thought I would back up in there. That didn't work.
The car in front of me wasn't moving. We weren't moving.
He flashed his high beams at me. I was oblivious he meant for me to turn off my high beams and left my high beams on.
I started to back up more to get into a better position for him to pass. He still didn't move.
We were at an impasse.
At this point, I thought, oh hell, this is silly.
The other car wasn't going forward, so I did.
Then he started to move forward.
I started to back up.
They started to back up.
I thought I was in some Laurel and Hardy adventure.
Andrea's getting impatient. I was getting impatient.
Smoke started coming out of my ears.
I'm sure whoever was in the other car was getting a little miffed too.
Finally, we each eased forward ever so slowly — one small revolution of the tires at a time. Step by step, inch by inch, we passed each other with less than a badger's hair between us. I could see the whites of his eyes, and he could probably see my scowl. Grrrrr!
No obscene hand gestures passed between us, however, I did think of a few choice ones along the way.
Thankfully, the road opened up ahead. I crossed my fingers, my toes, and even some bits of me I didn't know I had. We made it back to the M25 and home without any more incidents.
Sometimes, even going down the road can be an adventure. You never really know what to expect. If you like a challenge, I recommend English Country Lanes.
For the coming week, I hope your roads are clear and have ample width. I wish you smooth seas and following winds.
Until next week, I wish you peace.