Gas-Station Philosopher

Here is a nice story I got from Drew. I feel it is a timely lesson when our country feels itself facing period of difficulty.

During our first summer on the Arizona desert, I thought I'd roast. Trying to garden, tag after the children and shop at my usual pace nearly killed me in the 112-degree Fahrenheit temperature.

By the next April I was already dreading those three months of Hades coming up. I told Mr. Simpson so, at his service station while he filled my car's tank.

"Now, you don't want to worry the season that way," he chided me gently. "Dreading the scorchers just makes the summer start sooner and last longer."

I realized, as I paid the bill, that he was right. Summer in my thinking was already upon us, making a five-month hot spell.

"Treat the heat like a welcome surprise," he said, handing me change. "Take advantage of the best that our summer offers and ignore the rest under air conditioning."

"Is there a best about summer here?" I asked weakly.

"Ever up at five or six o'clock? I swear, those July morning skies are so rosy - like heaven is blushing. And on August nights, the stars look like icebergs floating in a dark blue ocean. And a person doesn't know the real joy of swimming until he's jumped into the water on a 114-degree day!"

As Mr. Simpson went to wait on another customer, a younger employee who'd been standing nearby grinned and said softly, "Well, you've just had Simpson's Special - free with a fill-up."

To my amazement, Mr. Simpson's advice worked. When my dreading stopped, April and May were cut from the hot season. And when the scorchers did arrive, I worked at my roses in the heavenly cool of morning. In the afternoon I slept with the young ones. And in the evening we played croquet and made ice cream on the patio. Through the summers that followed, I learned the beauty of the desert sunrise.

Years later, when we moved north, our neighbors there were already worrying about winter in September. When the snows of December did arrive, our children - David, ten, and Dawn, 12 - were excited. As they made snowballs, our neighbors gathered to watch "those nutty desert kids who've never seen snow before."

When the children headed for the hills with their sleds, a few neighbors joined the kids "so they won't kill themselves hitting trees." Later they'd go skating on the pond with David and Dawn "to keep them from falling through the ice." Afterward, adults and children would sit by our fireplace and linger over hot chocolate.

On one afternoon a middle-aged neighbor remarked, "For years the snow has just been something to shovel. I'd forgotten what real fun it can be!"

A few years later we were transferred home to the desert. When I drove to the service station, I learned from the new owner that age had forced Mr. Simpson to sell. He'd bought a tiny station in a nearby town.

I drove there and visited with Mr. Simpson as he serviced our car. He was thinner now, with hair the color of silver hubcaps. But his pleasant smile was still the same. I asked how he was.

"I'm not worrying abot growing old," he said, coming out from under the hood. "Too busy enjoying life out here in the country."

He wiped his hands. "We've got three peach trees loaded with fruit - and a hummingbird nesting outside our bedroom window. Imagine a perfect bird no bigger than my finger, looking just like a little penguin."

He started writing up the sale. "At twilight rabbits pop like corn out of the brush. When the moon comes up, coyotes gather on the knoll. I've never seen a spring with more abundant wildlife." As I drove off, he called our, "Enjoy it!"

All the way home, I thought about Simpson's Special - that wonderful man's secret to happiness. Instead of dreading life's minuses, he simply enjoyed the pluses.

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