Cold Comfort

Aug 15, 2014

I wake up in a sweat. It is the middle of the night. I know I have been sleeping because a remnant of latest dream still lingers. My pillow feels like a sponge around my ears, my bed sheet wrapped around my naked legs. It is time to start the truck. I have done this before. It is how I survive these days – half a night with a/c and half a night au naturelle.

As I turn the key my heart turns to gratitude. I am thankful for batteries newly purchased about a month ago, and now serving with confidence (unlike the old ones that occasionally gave me a heart attack when there was only a ‘click click’). And I am so grateful for a recently learned poor man’s air conditioning repair. I charge it up with a can of Freon purchased at a local Walmart or Kmart! Oh, what a welcome discovery these last several weeks. No need to spend hundreds of dollars on A/C repairs that last only a short while anyway!

This morning, however, another thought intrudes itself on ‘the good litany.’ Seems like I remember another variation to this A/C topic! Last evening as I cruised down the highway I was accompanied by air escort! A helicopter was diving and darting behind, aft, and before me – obviously a vehicle of USCBP – probably snuffing out Mexican illegals down in the hot snake infested bushes somewhere. Not only that, but my mind reels on. Yesterday morning back in Laredo I was sitting at McDonalds, when suddenly there was the raised voice of Security, “Hello, Hello, Out!”, and a ragged looking young man gave up on his attempt to grab ice and a cold drink at the fountain machine.

Indeed, even now I further recognize my comparative comfort. I live in an insulated world. I haul temperature controlled produce. I haul it from cool warehouse to cool warehouse, with strict temperature requirements in my load assignments. My job is done within those parameters, and I do it well. I do it in comfort and even with a certain amount of dignity. What if I didn’t have this truck? What if it didn’t work right? (That has happened occasionally and I don’t care to think about that too much). What if I was one of those desperadoes out in the bushes? My heart resonates with what Martin Luther once said, “There but by the grace of God go I”.

Lord I wish I would have at least have handed the guy my cold drink as he wildly beat his escape past my seat at McDonalds. Ooh, my mistake. And some of us have it so good!