Waiting at the "Tokarev" Callbacks

Last Tuesday's callbacks were much more organized than the first audition. My husband did not get the role he originally read for. They gave that part to Ron Perlman. (RON PERLMAN! This is a NICOLAS CAGE and RON PERLMAN movie! Super cool, totally awesome!) Instead they had my husband read for three other parts. Yesterday, I found out that he will be a featured extra.

Last Tuesday was a pretty day, not too hot, not cold, nice breeze. We got a parking spot in the shade. I decided to wait in the car alone (away from any annoying, “bony, loud, scratchy, deep voiced women with a southern 'country' accent” who might be putting down their daughters). I sat there in the peaceful quiet and finished knitting a dishcloth. Then I started crocheting a potholder. It was nice. I enjoy these times of “waiting.” If I had been home, I would have been folding, or sweeping, or dusting, or letting the dogs out (and in), or any number of other things, but not knitting or crocheting.

Last Tuesday I realized that I have been “waiting” my whole life. My mother was perpetually late. We never arrived anywhere on time, and we were the last people to leave. When she picked me up from school, I was the last child there waiting with the last teacher there (and this was normal). We went to Sunday school and church. We always walked into Sunday school late (but at least we were already there for church). She would stay after church and talk, and talk, and talk, until there was nobody left to talk to. On weeknights, we went to Bible studies at friend's houses. My younger brother and I (he is also an amiable, even more amiable than I am) would sit on the floor beside her and wait, quietly entertaining ourselves with coloring books and little toy cars. But after 4 or 5 hours, even my brother and I, who wanted to stay up late, started tugging on mom's pant leg asking, “Mom, can we please go home?” Seriously, what was she thinking? Those were school nights. We were little kids. The waiting to be picked up from school, that was the worst. It would take so long that I would start wondering if she had forgotten me. It was so long that I would be trying not to cry in front of the teacher who was stuck there waiting with me.

Last Tuesday I was content to wait in the car. The windows were rolled down. The birds chirped. The breeze blew. I had my knitting. It was nice. Choosing to wait is a lot different than being stuck waiting. I choose to go early and wait; in carpool, for the doctor or dentist, or for any appointment. When it starts getting later than my scheduled time, I figure there must have been an unforeseen emergency earlier in the day...OR...some inconsiderate mother was late, throwing off the whole day, making everybody wait.