On the last Monday of each month, my lovely friend Lavender Luz at Write Mind Open Heart sponsors Perfect Moment Monday, a blog hop/writing prompt that offers an opportunity to notice and reflect on the "perfect moments" in our lives, rather than create them. These moments can be ordinary, momentous, or somewhere in between. Everyone is welcome to join. Hopefully we don't have to all be on time.
I've actually had some really good news over the past month. And I've had quite a few perfect moments, and even perfect hours. But I've also been dealing with some difficult, soul-sucking and stressful things. And eating my way through them, despite struggling not to. So I've been grateful for the turn in the weather that allows for runs on weekend mornings and my body which seems to be letting me go a little farther again, despite the ankle that still isn't quite healed.
I took my medium-length loop on Monday morning, before our town's annual Memorial Day parade, and towards the end, I slowed down to cross a busy intersection. That was before I saw the convoy.
They were coming from the armory not too far down the highway: all kinds of trucks, jeeps, an old Army car that looked like it was something out of the Sound of Music, even a small tank. I knew they were headed to the parade staging area in the shopping center. But they were like a mini-parade of their own, with no one to appreciate them. And something about the scene made me start clapping.
There I was, hopping up and down, trying to keep my heart rate up, clapping for my own private parade convoy of antique Army vehicles, driven by people who were old, and young, in all kinds of dress. Many of them waved back appreciatively, some honked horns, and some probably laughed at the crazy running woman on the side of the road who was jumping and clapping. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling particularly grateful for the freedom to run, and barbecue, and celebrate summer, all of which I think are perfectly acceptable things to celebrate on Memorial Day, because in some places, going for a run would mean navigating land mines, and celebrating anything would put you at risk for execution.
I was the sound of one woman clapping. And it was, for the moment, enough.