Yesterday's trip took me far, but the night before, I was organized to a fault: I packed everything I’d need into a bag, laid out the next day's clothes neatly on a chair, and printed step-by-step driving directions — just in case I lost internet on the way. I even snapped a photo of them, for backup. It was going to be about an hour’s drive.
Wednesday morning came, and I loaded the dogs into the car, left plenty of food and water out for the cat (just in case I was gone longer than expected), and hit the road.
Things were smooth until I exited the freeway and took a right, expecting it to lead me straight to the library. Instead, I drove past ranches and homes and wide country stretches that looked nothing like a town — definitely not library territory. I stopped to ask a couple of construction workers for help: one was new to the area, and the other said, “I’m not sure, but I think you need to keep going.”
So I did... for twenty more minutes.
Still no sign of anything. I was just starting to wonder if I’d driven into another dimension when I spotted — on my right, and almost too late — a ceramic shop. I made a sharp turn and pulled in.
Inside, I found shelves lined with pottery, two beautiful dogs, and a kind lady. I told her where I was trying to go and showed her my directions. She said they were wrong. “But you found the ceramic shop!” she added, cheerfully.
And thank goodness I had. I could have ended up in another state entirely, sending postcards from St. Louis because I wouldn’t have had enough gas to make it back.
Hours later, home at last, I looked up her shop online, found the phone number, and called to thank her again — this time, with less exasperation in my voice. What a sweet, helpful person! I’m so grateful I found the ceramic shop.
Then I started thinking about ceramics.
