Finding Peace in an Unexpected Encounter On the Eastern Shore

It is a splendid summer day so I take off for the Eastern Shore of Maryland … a tucked-away little town with historic homes. It’s an idyllic getaway from the overcrowding of suburban, Pennsylvania where I live.

I walk the Episcopal Church graveyard … Saint Anne’s, dating back to the 18th century. The small, weather-stained headstones tell poignant stories of the people buried there—from a mother laid to rest beside her untimely deceased son to a man who lived well into his nineties. A sloping grassy embankment leads to the river under stunning blue skies.

Afterward, I browse through an antique shop. Pendants and earrings, as well as heavy plastic bracelets, are displayed and I remember my mother and her jewelry. This outing is my Julia Cameron artist’s date. The hope, always is to jumpstart new writing, which has felt elusive this summer.

Faded Christmas decorations that once belonged to someone who cherished hopes and dreams around a Christmas tree are marked down fifty percent off for sale.

At a shop across the street, I smell vanilla and cinnamon-scented candles. Goat and honey aloe soaps are for sale. A young man flirts with the girl behind the counter.

The day has a life of its own.

I walk the cobblestoned sidewalk to a renowned crab shack for lunch. It’s only me, a single woman. A hostess in her early twenties seats me at a table with a view of the street. The motorcycles with American flags roar down the main street. An SUV blares Google Maps “Your destination is on your left.” I check my cell phone. I wait … and wait. No menu. As couples and families who come in after me are served, I feel ignored. I stand up and start to leave when a brown-haired waitress, probably in her fifties, approaches. I admit to her I had been waiting. She sees my displeasure.
 
She says she’s not sure it’s her table, she’s still waiting for her assignment. She says this grim-faced, as though somehow it is up to me to understand her schedule. Just then a couple sits down at the next table. A waitress immediately appears with menus. “I’ll get you something to drink,” my waitress says unsmiling. “What would you like?” I tell her iced tea with lemonade.

When she returns with my drink, she asks if I’d decided. I inquire about the platter versus the sandwich. There are side dishes. “What are they,” I ask. She looks disgusted. She opens the menu. “Here,” she says pointing to side dishes I hadn’t seen. I feel her hostility and the mounting tension on the hot summer day. I quickly say I’ll take the sandwich not the platter, so I don’t waste her time pondering side dishes. She is put off by me. Is it my hair? My sunglasses? Or is it that I have leisure time on a beautiful day and she doesn’t? Would she have dared show that hostility if I were a man? Or is it that the place isn’t run efficiently not that I am an older invisible woman?

The negativity of an unexpected encounter offers reflection. I am reminded of the lessons learned from the cemetery visit — the value of gaining perspective, and the importance of choosing love and peace over conflict because nothing lasts forever.

I smile. When she brings my food and drink, I thank her. “Both are perfect,” I say when a few minutes later she checks back to see if everything is alright.  She returns my smile. We’re on good footing now. I’ve given her the respect she must have thought I didn’t have for her.

As I get into my car to drive home, I realize I may have something to write about after all. How easily this could have devolved into an antagonistic and ugly situation marring my beautiful day. Instead, I’ve recovered a sense of peace through an unexpected encounter. The Buddhists have a saying. “Don’t judge, observe.” A writer knows to pay attention, not just to others, but to herself.

Note to my readers: I will be traveling for the next couple of weeks. I expect I will have a lot to write about when I return.