Suspension! OK. It’s my fault, but really? About 2 months ago, on one of my frequent trips to Ohio, I got a speeding ticket in Mishawaka, Indiana. The officer gave me a paper and said to call the court within the next 40 days to find out what my fine would be. I put the ticket in my purse and promptly forgot about it.
After school was over, I cleaned out my purse and lo and behold, the ticket. I called the courthouse and sent my money to Mishawaka. Three days ago I received a notice/order of suspension from the Illinois Secretary of State based on the unresolved (from their point of view) ticket in Indiana. The letter also stated that until resolution I cannot drive on my license.
I called Mishwaka and they told me I needed a receipt from them to prove that I had paid the ticket. Apparently there is no technology in Mishawaka so I needed to send them a self-addressed stamped envelope (remember those?) to get my receipt to prove I had paid the fine and resolved this matter.
This is all to say that life as usual has been suspended. Or that I am in a kind of suspension and it is actually rather nice. Today I needed to get some sketch books from the art store so I walked. I saw the remains of the fire last night in the cemetery caused by a careless firecracker last night, which left the stone markers glowing, almost halo-like, in the sun (see photo above). (I couldn’t figure out why the dry grass around the markers did not burn.) Passed the white cross nailed to a tree at the side of the road where someone named Octavio Garcia was killed. Mailed bills. Got an iced green tea latte. Watched the new apartment building getting constructed for a while. Looked in shop windows. Ran into someone I used to work with many years ago. Bought stamps. Discovered a small delicate white flower that clearly flourishes in the dry heat we have been having (see photo below). Inquired about my ring at the jewelers. Organized my head around several projects.
When I got to the art store, they had run out of the particular sketch books I needed, but I wasn’t frustrated. The universe’s message, as well as the Mishawaka officer’s, is to slow down. I am grateful for it.