Blood, Sweat and Tears

Why doesn't life cooperate? We make our plans then have to change them. Set our dates and erase to set again. Plot our course and watch the map disappear. Make our lists only to re-run them the next day.

Time flies, is stolen or heads to higher ground. I don’t know. This world is just weird sometimes. 

When you read this I will be at camp. We are heading out with nine teenagers in tow. Getting there with all nine is iffy. J

I love being there, but the process can be a pain. I drive the church’s fifteen-passenger van. It’s not pretty, but it does run. As of last Thursday night (I leave on Monday) that’s about all it does. The cruise, speedometer and gas gauge all went kaput at once. Friday night the AC fan was rattling its death wish and the windshield cracked down the middle of the driver’s side. My pastor is sweating bullets because his car guy doesn't work weekends.

I wanted to say, “Oh, yea of little faith.” For some peculiar reason, I also want to live. 

Now imagine. Eleven people and a week’s worth of luggage crammed into one van for seven hours. No way to obey the speed limit. No clue as to how much gas it’s guzzled. No cruise control. AACCKK! No cruise! And if life continues on this lovely path, the AC will die about twenty minutes outside of town with ninety-degree temps. Can we say, Murphy’s Law?

Good thing I don’t believe in old Murphy. If I did, I would have opted for an early grave. Or put him in one. Maybe I’m getting nutty in my old age, umm, middle age, but I see this as an adventure.  Will we make it? Will we make it alive? Will we make it with all body parts intact?

Which kid will push my last button and have to thumb it home? How many pounds can you sweat off in seven hours of sweltering heat? How many potty stops will all that sweating eliminate? How wet will we get with the windows down if it rains? Will rain wash the sweaty stench away so the van doesn't smell like a boy’s locker room for eternity????

Will crying really get me out of a ticket? (At that point crying should be easy. Not wailing like a banshee and begging the cop to haul me off will be the hard part.) Will the nice policeman have compassion and let us go without one? Doubtful, I am no longer young and gorgeous. Maybe he’ll be an old fat lech who can’t see so great? Will I end up in the hoosegow for throttling someone before the day is out? If it comes to that, a ticket is the least of my worries.

Think of this blog as a soap opera. All the burning questions get answered in the next episode. Or next. Maybe. 

 I wonder if they’ll give me a computer in that county jail out there in the boonies?