We鈥檇 needed a washroom stop for awhile. The location, a pullout near a quiet country intersection, seemed perfect.
Daughter Amanda, two granddaughters and I had set out early, anticipating a pleasant day-long journey. With public washrooms closed due to COVID-19 regulations, we knew a road trip demanded flexibility. 鈥淕ood thing there鈥檚 plenty of room in the ditch,鈥� I鈥檇 told her earlier.
But Amanda had prepared for pandemic necessities. (Keep reading for the tip of the year.) She鈥檇 brought a clean five-gallon bucket and a shortened pool noodle, sliced down one side. The foam noodle, stuck on the bucket rim, would provide cushioned comfort inside the back of their large van. She鈥檇 also brought Lysol wipes for cleaning the bucket post-emptying, anti-bacterial lotion for washing up, and a roll of TP, along with the requisite plastic bag for collecting it.
All the amenities of home. Sort of. Since gale-force winds had blown us thus far, the girls and I felt grateful for her foresight and a sheltered privy. 鈥淏ut Mama,鈥� one of them told me they鈥檇 suggested, before leaving home, 鈥渨e don鈥檛 need the TP. Just bring a box of tissue.鈥�
鈥淭his will be fine,鈥� said my daughter, revealing long-practiced (and inherited) frugality.
And it was fine鈥攗ntil on opening the back of the van the wind joined our party of four. Out blew the toilet paper. Amanda gave chase, but it stayed just ahead of her, racing down the short entry lane and across the highway, unrolling all the way. Then, in keeping with Murphy鈥檚 law, that previously quiet intersection suddenly had traffic. Two semis crossed the white 鈥渇inish鈥� line just ahead of my daughter.
The girls and I watched from inside the van, gasping, barely able to remain upright. By the time the trucks passed (their drivers likely chuckling too), the toilet roll had exhausted itself and parked in the opposite ditch. White ribbons littered the road, dancing in the breeze. Amanda, hair floating, skittered madly in all directions. By the time she returned to the van, arms full, neck draped, none of us had breath to speak. Our laughter continued the entire trip.
Something even more memorable happened that day. Three times God protected us by mere inches (sufficient grace!) from accidents that could have resulted in severe injuries or worse. A hot yellow sports car meandered into our lane as we passed it, dawdling back when Amanda blasted the horn. Another driver, ignoring a solid line, passed an oncoming vehicle, forcing us to veer sharply onto the shoulder. And a turkey vulture, hampered by windgusts while rising from a roadside snack, barely missed our windshield. Horrified, I watched its hooked beak, bald red head and light-coloured pinions as the huge bird cleared the glass.
Grateful for laughter, I am. We all need that medicine about now. But I鈥檓 even more grateful for God鈥檚 protection. Many of my readers are feeling particularly vulnerable mid-pandemic. Lord, bring a smile this day. And remind us all to place our lives under your loving care. Amen.
