My nameless friends in passing

We've all heard some form of musing or another on how looking into other cars as you drive along is akin to observing a fishbowl, or a snapshot of someone's life, or peeking into one deceptively simple moment among the whole breath taking parade of moments that make up the mercurial managerie of resume items we'll be presenting in the hereafter.

I love it when those snapshots and moments collide. I mean, not the cars. But what makes that moment something shared rather than merely passing? A turn signal doesn't count as personal communication (though I do consider it a form of vital communication, certainly) and I wouldn't count "driver's sign language" as something I choose to take personally.

Taking Princess to school has opened my eyes to a new sort of interpersonal road experience. I see the same parents almost every day going to and from the school. I know the ones who walk, the ones who drive vans, the ones who can still fit their families into sedans, the ones who bring their bikes and either a tandem attachment or a little house on wheels where the spawn may rest and watch the world go by. There are also those picking up kids for friends, the kids who depart on buses, and kids who stay late for parents unable to come right away on a consistent basis, and people who decide to bring along the furrier members of the clan.

In the morning I know who is going to barrel out of the parking lot because, once again, s/he's late for something. I also know who is going to quickly and quietly drop off the kid, and who is going to stay in the drop off lane chatting. I'm familiar with all their bumper stickers, stickers to get on Post, window stickers, Baby on Board signs, little flags on their bike carriers, and license plates from all over the country (I've personally seen Alaska, Hawaii, Maine, and Florida all in the same parking lot).

But this morning I had the opportunity to wait a bit while someone went around the huge lawn maintenance equipment trailer someone had parked on a curve, mere feet from a stop sign. I see her in the oncoming lane pretty frequently on my way back from dropping off Princess, driving a large, dark blue 'Burb. She wears dark-framed glasses most days and keeps her hair in a looped pony tail. I didn't know if she could see me waiting across the street at the four way stop. But when she finally got up to the stop sign, she smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back.

And a little good deed was rewarded with another passing friend who remains nameless.