Scribble it Down

Gratitude Journal – Day 5- October 14th, 2016

☆ Hearing Night Time is the Right Time on my ipod playlist. Wow! I had forgotten about that song. I was in such a low and sad mood, but when my ipod surprised me with that track, I suddenly felt more alive and it was hard not to want to move and sing with Ray Charles’ passionate and soulful voice. The energy of it is just infectious.

☆ Of course, it brought back memories of good old days, watching old sitcoms like the Cosby Show and laughing our heads off when the whole Huxstable family lip syncs that same Ray Charles tune. Theo in his flipped collar and wide brimmed hat, strutting down their living room staircase, the women and girls all synchronizing their choreographed hip movements and Heathcliff just cool and smooth in his suit and tie.  The best part was when they had Rudy do all the gut wrenching “Baby” cries in the song! Actually, the best part was that life felt so much simpler then.

☆ Walking back to my car late at night feeling my own connection to the words night time is the right time. It is the time when I feel so alive. There is something about the night that is mysterious, and peaceful and magical all at the same time.
The streets are quieter. I am more aware of the silence and stillness and calm in the night. Yet it allows me to hear sounds that I wouldn’t otherwise here during the hustle and bustle of our busy days.

☆ The sloshing of taxi tires zipping by against the wet, shimmering roads. There seem to be more taxis on the road at night, or maybe I just notice them more as they stop and stare, sure that you are in desperate need of them if you are walking alone in the wet weather at night. But then they realize you are walking to your own car and somehow, seem disappointed.

☆ The way the high rise buildings seem to disappear into the dark, night sky. With most of the apartments’ lights out, the skyscrapers appear like dark towers, melting into the blackness of the sky. Everything is dark up above making the streets lights and late night 7-11 shops appear brighter.

☆ Walking down the ‘wrong’ street, thinking I was heading to exactly where my car was parked. This led me to a gas station that I wouldn’t have found if I had walked down the ‘right’ street.

☆ At that gas station, when I went to pay for the Cliff bar I had bought, I see that there is a word tattooed on the fist of the youngish Indian guy behind the till. Well, to be exact, if you imagine someone making a fist, and then banging that fist on a table, the part of the hand and fist that would make contact with the table- that’s where the tattoo was. I thought I imagined what I saw, because it didn’t seem likely that this fit, young, guy would have this inscribed on his hand. Maybe I am imagining it because I know it’s on my mind, I thought.

But then his wrist turned in a way that allowed me to see it really quickly again. And so I asked, “Does your tattoo say Mom on it?”
He smiled, and said, “Yes,” while he showed it to me again. It was in beautifully inscribed in flowing handwriting on his left hand. I smiled, but looked down and could feel myself breathe in deeply as I did. I looked up again as he said, “This one says Mom,” and then he turned his other hand around and said, “And this one says Dad.”

I didn’t say much. But I did feel a lot. He smiled and said thank you. But little did he know that I was the one who was really thankful. Thankful he was there, thankful I had lost my way, thank you that I had been observant enough to see the word written on him. Or that something made me see.

☆ It wasn’t until I left the gas station that I realized I couldn’t find my car. I was cold. It was wet. I was tired. And then I told myself that I was being foolish, thinking that all of this was a sign and I was supposed to be there. What if I parked my car was towed for some reason, or worse, stolen? But then again, why would anyone steal an old Corolla?

☆ It was late when I finally spotted my car (my mom’s car to be exact). I got into it and turned up the heat but was so frustrated with myself for being able to pay attention to some stupid marks on a guy’s hand but not being able to pay attention to the location of where I left my car. Once I started driving, I noticed a song had come to an end on the radio. And then, another one started. There was a silence just before it, that reminded me of the night’s silence. And it made focus more on what was to come.  A guitar was playing softly but sweetly. I recognized the old classic within a few seconds: Eric Clapton’s Layla. I cried. The lyrics – I had never heard them properly before that moment: “Layla, you got me on my knees Layla. I’m begging darling please, Layla. Darling won’t you ease my worried mind.”  My thoughts exactly. My thoughts exactly.

☆ Mom, I’m sure you were not familiar with that Clapton song that bore your name while you were living. Sure, it is uses a y instead of an i, but still the same name.  Maybe someone in Heaven has told you about Clapton and his song now. Thanks to you, or the Universe, or just pure coincidence for playing it for me. (It could have been coincidence, because the song that was just ending before Layla was “Trouble” by Taylor Swift- haha!) But… if I had gotten to my car earlier, I might have missed the Clapton song, and reached home before it played. It was perfect timing, in a way, or so I’d like to believe. Maybe I got lost or thought I had lost the car to find some hope of peace about you. for you. .

Tattoos, Clapton, and Divine Timing? What a night. Maybe night time IS really the right time to connect to it.