There Are More Important Things than Stopping for Gas

When I was a senior in high school, my brother came home from college for the weekend and asked me to write an English paper for him. As I recall, it was about Tennessee Williams, who I knew nothing about. Nonetheless, I obliged.

When I was finished writing the paper, I went downstairs to my brother's room and handed it to him. In return, he handed me a "mixed tape" (remember those?) that he made for me while I was writing his paper. On the edge of the tape case he had neatly typed, "There Are More Important Things than English Papers."

Yesterday, There Were More Important Things than Stopping for Gas.

Running out of gas is such an old-fashioned thing to do, don't you think? I mean, no one runs out of gas anymore, do they? I remember the last time it happened to me--or rather, to someone I was riding with. I must have been 6 or 8 years old. My grandmother was driving. She drove through a green light, not too far from home, and, quite suddenly, the car cut off. She didn't know what was wrong at first, but she pulled over to the side of the road. Hmm. Out of gas.

I knew what was wrong at first.

I'm guilty of always driving with the gas light on. And my husband is guilty of always giving me a hard time about driving with the gas light on. "You have at least 50 miles once the light comes on," I always insist. Besides, the way they make cars these days, it's impossible to run out of gas. Isn't it? The light comes on waaaaayyyyy too early for anyone to actually run out of gas. Doesn't it?

Hmm. Out of gas.

I have to admit that, once I pulled over onto the side of the highway, I had a brief moment of panic. And then I laughed. And then I did what anyone with a new camera would do: I took some really fantastic photos.

Special thanks to the friendly "roadside assistance" man who stopped to help (it's interesting, isn't it, that they don't carry gasoline? Probably because no one runs out of gas these days. But thanks for those flares--they lasted a good five minutes in the rain); Celia, who came to my rescue (eventually--sorry about those bad directions); and Lisa, who still met us for lunch exactly one hour later than previously scheduled.

(yep, she holds 20...)

Celia and I joked about the fact that, when the hectic holiday season is over, I'll probably have fond memories of that one peaceful hour I spent on the side of the highway--no cleaning, no cooking, no shopping, no wrapping, no fighting...it's funny, isn't it, how such a stupidly embarrassing event could turn out to be so heavenly?

(Still, I'll admit that I'm fairly certain that I'm cured of the need to drive with the gas light on).