February 21st: Angels Watching Over Me

When Lynne and I lived in Malibu, CA we fell in love with our landlord’s daughters.  All gorgeous girls in the blonde scandinavian tradition.   We spent a lot of time with these girls over the nearly six years we lived there, and when we moved back home last May we missed them big time.   The number three daughter, Esme, had pointed out before we left that I had sung a song at her older sister’s baptism and that she wanted to know if I’d do the same for her, even though we’d be living in another state and not just down the hill.  Well, today her baptism was scheduled for 12:45pm Pacific Time. At 3:00 am Pacific Time I was somewhere on I-15 near Mesquite, Nevada with a flat tire, no flashlight in a new Toyota Prius I’d borrowed from my dad to make the trip.

The jack had never been used.  The car had barely been driven and I wasn’t super familiar with the hybrid design.  All I knew was we could make the trip inexpensively and if we didn’t have any major hiccups after we left the Star Awards Gala we’d  be in the Pacific Palisades in time for the big event.

Now I don’t want to pile on Toyota with all the problems they’ve got right now, but at 3:00 in the morning in a brand new car you’d like it if the jack worked.  You know how jacks work:  You put them under the car near the tire that’s flat and crank the crank and lift up the car and swap the tires.  Problem was, turning the crank required someone with the strength of THE INCREDIBLE HULK when he was really, really angry.   I was getting really, really angry that I couldn’t make this jack work, but I wasn’t getting as strong as I needed to be.

Then, the first angel appeared in the form of a guy named Kerrie who pulled over to help me out.  He was on his way to Las Vegas and felt like he needed to stop.  A couple of things about his stopping are noteworthy.  First of all, that he did it at all at that time of night in a world where helping out can be dangerous.  Then, it’s worth noting, that as hard as HE TRIED to crank the jack the results were about the same as mine.  It two two grown (and sober) men thirty minutes to get the flat tire off and another twenty to raise the car high enough to get the spare tire on.  The only reason we pulled it off at all is because he pulled out his soccet wrench set and figured out a way to use it as a substitute cranker-thingie.  (This, of course, is the technical term songwriters often use that you may not be familiar with)

As I tried to thank Kerrie for his help he told me he’d been helped out years ago and the fellow that got him back on the road told him the only way he could be thanked is if Kerrie promised to stop for the next guy who needed some help.  I gave him a copy of the Mission To Be Happy book/CD and told him what a smile he’d brought to my heart that night. While I was signing the book for him I mentioned that I was sad because I probably wouldn’t make it to California for the baptism of my young friend; the spare tire was one of those funny little excuses for a tire that were only good to get you to the next town.  Kerrie didn’t seem like a particularly “churchie” guy, but he looked right at me and said, “You need to be there.  Somehow thing’ll work out.”

He drove behind us until we pulled off the freeway and into a gas station in Mesquite.  Knowing we were safe he wished us well and was off.  Inside the all night Rebel Gas station next to the Eureka Casino we asked if there was anyone who could get us a new tire in the middle of the night.  A gal named Shirley offered me a business card of a place called Round The Clock Tires.  I called and found out that Round the Clock Tires should have been named, “Round the Clock If You’re A Semi Truck and need Tires”  Shirley offered me another card and I called but only got an answering machine.  Things weren’t going well and it looked like we’d have to get a room and hope someone could help us on a Sunday Morning. Oh, and we’d have to call and tell our friend we wouldn’t be able to sing for her on her special day.  To find the strength to face my disappointment (and undercurrent of anger with the idiot who designed the Prius jack and spare) I bought a diet coke and put a little of the real thing on top….and gave myself an insulin shot.

Shirley then called my name.  “Got someone on the phone for ya’”.  She’d found someone to help us out.  She’d spent her life in Mesquite. She wasn’t going to have us be stranded.  I didn’t have any cash, didn’t know any other way to say thank you but to give her a copy of the Mission To Be Happy book/cd.  Told her how happy she’d made me.

Half hour later we’re at John’s Auto Repair and John’s son Larry shows up and somehow finds a tire that’ll fit, gets it on the wheel and gets us back on the road.  As grateful as I was for Larry’s help I didn’t get the vibe that he’d be into the M2B:) thing.  Sort felt like his mission to be happy would be getting back in the sack by 5am on a Sunday morning. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t planning on getting back up to go to church.   But you know what? Just like Shirley and Kerrie, he was an angel watchin over me.

At 12:44pm Pacific Time we pulled into the church in time for Esme’s baptism.  Her grandmother was escorting her from the dressing room to the room where the program was to take place.  Esme ran to give me a big hug and her grandma smiled at me and said, “Esme told me she knew you’d come.”  As that little eight year old angel thanked me for coming to her baptism a place in my heart thanked the three other angels watchin’ over me that got us there.