Do You Believe in Signs?

I'm always looking for signs to clue me in to whether or not I'm on the right path, making the right decisions, doing the right thing. Kind of like Steve Martin's character in L.A. Story, I read the signs as I go and interpret them according to my current situation.

But on the other hand, I'm skeptical of signs, too. I, for instance, don't think that the right lane MUST turn right. Sometimes, in my opinion, it's perfectly okay to put on the turn signal and pop over into the left lane and keep going, whether the zig-zag annoys other drivers or not. I'll know I should have turned right when, or if, I arrive at the right lane MUST exit sign. As you see, I believe in second chances, too.

Which brings me to what I really have to say: There I was driving down the road in Charleston, SC, headed to my youngest son's USSSA U11 Baseball World Series, having just finished shrilly reprimanding him and his sister for yaaa-yaaaing back and forth at each other in the back seat. My husband and I were at odds with each other, as well. He was fussing at me to fuss at them. I was sassing back that I could either look up the directions to the ball park or handle the kids, but not both at the same time. Periodically I gripped the dashboard and sounded the near-miss alert as we wove our way through bumper-to-bumper traffic. Every nerve in the car was stretched tighter than Joan Rivers's face.

Then I saw it, the sign. "Oh my gosh, you've got to pull over," I startled my husband, who opened his mouth to admonish me for my outburst and growl that we were already running way behind and couldn't pull over. But before he could utter a single syllable, he saw it, too, and pulled over.

We both got out of the car and gazed at it, our sign:

It changed us. It changed our trip.

I believe in signs.