You don't always get what you want...

[baavgai]

Yesterday, as today, was planned.

Yesterday, we would journey to Cabela's to pick up supplies that mail order had failed miserably to deliver. It's a hike, though the destination can be amusing. On the return trip, we'd stop at a party and meet many familiar faces and some new ones; there would be food. Well, that was the plan.

The heep would be our ride, because we'd just sunk the cost of a used car into it and we needed to know it would make the trek to Pittsburgh. It seemed like a good idea, the final test when you're pretty sure everything will be fine but just want to check anyway.

A mile from the exit, the one we would stop at on the way back, the heep died. No electric, machine tinkered by Dave playing tricks again. AAA is your friend. So, the plans for the day are shot; poof.

I had remembered a book I was going to bring, for a friend. Though based in Tibetan Buddhism, it's pretty accessible even if you're no into that kind of thing. Looking over it, it's a little more new agey than I recalled, but not bad. I like the clarity of language; not like the mind numbing verbiage I find D.T.Suzuki to have. It had a few points that had been wondering through my brain of late.

So, when the truck up and croaks, I'm in a pretty Zen state of mind. I'm bummed about missing friends and that the hunting supply will have to be visited again, but such feelings are the result of attachment. In a Zen mindset, attachments roll off like water from a duck. There is only this moment, no need to worry about any other. And so the reordering of the day begins.

The tow truck guy is quick, fastest tow truck I've ever gotten, I think. The driver is a bald white guy with a bushy mustache and little other hair; well, maybe the ears. He's not a talker. loosecanon and I squeeze into the cab and trundle homeward.

Being of the right mindset, I'm basically amused. Mr. Mustache has some "lite" station playing and Rod Stuart is crooning away in the background. The music matched up with our pro wrestler wannabe driver makes me smile. He has a pack of bargain basement smokes on the dashboard that he'll light up twice on our trip.

The truck cab has the usual amount of shock absorption, which is negligible. As the first waft of tobacco fills the cab I recall long nights at Pennsic. However, I'm half a butt cheek off the seat and my kidney's are being shaken like maracas, I debate with myself whether to ask the nice man to put out his poison. I also, briefly, consider asking him for one; I know it will make me hurl, though. Kidneys do the cha cha.

We make it to the shop, by which time my amused is wearing off; being hot and standing in the sun does that to me. We have a quarter mile walk home, it looks like. I'm very worried about how I'll fare in the weather. The longer I'm just standing in it, the worse my chances get.

Finally, we're walking. I'm offered the lead and I set my own pace. I drop into a walking meditation that I can keep up for some time, as long as I'm allowed to choose the rhythm. I'm doing well, halfway there, barely winded; then I feel guilty and look back.

I get chastised for my lead. I wait and start again, trying to slow pace. My legs are now lead, before they'd been light. I get up to speed and the lead slips away. We're now close enough that I can take the rest of the trip slow, feeling my body bitch, since it can't get back into groove.

We make it home, booth beat. Not the day we'd planned.

Today, plans to go to Cabela's again. Oops, we got Dave'd. We'll see how it goes.