30

Plans for my 30 yr old birthday included Vegas or a white sand beach somewhere warm with palm trees and margaritas complete with the little umbrellas. That was fantasy. Reality found me walking 3 miles to pick up my car from the mechanic because it hadn't passed the emissions inspection which is a necessary part of tag renewal in Cobb County Georgia. The mechanic shop would have sent someone to pick me up and bring me to my vehicle...and I'm sure I could have gotten a ride from a friend if I had really wanted one. But it is a gloriously beautiful day in Atlanta...blue sky, sunshine, slight breeze, not too hot or too cold. If it wasn't for the exhaust fumes I swallowed on my trek, it would have almost felt like that tropical island of my dreams. I think I now understand why my Grandma (God rest her soul) refused to stop taking her daily walks on the streets of Los Angeles even after she was mugged. There is something about walking that renews the body and revives the spirit.

I grabbed some green tea and cookies on the way. My peaceful inner silence was sometimes broken by the honks of male drivers who apparently appreciated what they were seeing. If there's one thing I've learned in 30 years, it's that males will always find females attractive. They could be wearing burlap sacks or covered completely from head to toe, it wouldn't matter.

No major mishaps. Well, there was the guy who stopped briefly to ask me if I was going far and needed a ride. I said: "I'm good, thanks," barely pausing to glance in his direction and thinking that he slightly resembled the stereotypical 40+, balding, white guy who has a secret habit of kidnapping women and doing dreadful, unspeakable things to them before their bodies are discovered in his basement ten years later. (Yes, I made the unfortunate mistake of watching Law & Order SVU last night). Regardless, I don't get into strangers cars, female or male. End of subject...except for that time in Cleveland TN (which I can totally explain some other time).

And there were the dogs. As I passed, they crawled underneath the fence of the auto body shop they were guarding. I had fleeting visions of being surrounded and torn to pieces by savage watch dogs. My fears were quickly replaced by the wagging tails and friendly faces of Golden Retrievers and Irish Setters. The purebred Doberman Pinscher, that must certainly be lurking in the shadows, behind some rusted out fender, never materialized. Instead, my new canine friends were following me on my journey. Not that I minded, but I wasn't sure how the mechanic would feel about someone coming to get their vehicle accompanied by a pack of dogs. So I tossed them the empty tea can and cookie wrapper. Dogs are easily distracted.

I wanted to linger along the unused portion of the railroad tracks. I wanted to sit and write a story about the house by the tracks, the people they had seen. Good times, bad times. History has rattled by on those tracks, never stopping. Always tirelessly chugging on.

Amazingly enough, I wasn't even tired when I reached the shop. The shop owner's wife rang up my transaction while asking me where Boone county (where I bought the car) was in Kentucky because she had been born in Paducah. And then the conversation drifted to the good relationship she has with her daughter (who called while I was there) and her mother....and her brother and... It had that sort of homey, relaxed feel. Something that I have found in Kentucky and the South both. I wouldn't have been a bit surprised if she had offered me some sweet tea and an invitation to dinner.

The drive home was completely uneventful and boring. Somehow I don't crave Vegas or my mini island now. Perhaps some of the best moments in life are unplanned.