A wonderful evening with my friends Paula K-V, her husband Sheldon,  her daughter Abbey and Abbey’s fiance John resulted in a sleepless night.  It’s completely understandable.  We crowned our attendance of Sheldon’s dress rehearsal as a member of the Kansas City Symphony Chorus with a late supper at Winstead’s.  Because — that’s what Kansas Citians do after a show, right?

And while there:  You have a chocolate malt, right?

And then stay awake all night remembering why your doctor doesn’t want you to put white sugar on demyelinated nerves.

But I got through it and, after all, the pleasure of the company and the deliciousness of the malt offset the agony.  I slogged through the day which, thankfully, included the cancellation of an afternoon court appearance.  By 2:30 p.m. this afternoon, I knew that my rough night and predisposition to fatigue had brought me to the absolute end.  Five minutes more at the office would have ruined any chance of being able to grocery shop.

I gathered my bag, scarf, and sweater and headed for the car, feeling like a whipped puppy in a rainstorm; or Cinderella before the ball — tattered, torn, lonely, forlorn.

When I saw the yellow sticker on my window, I felt my mouth pucker in distaste.   An advertisement?  A ticket?  A nasty-gram?

But no.  An accolade.

I peeled it from the glass and got into the car.  With one finger, I gently pressed the note against the black plastic beneath my CD panel.  I sat for a few minutes, just taking in the message.  I don’t know who left this sticker on my window, nor what prompted them to do so.  But its message came at so perfect a time that it had to have some divine inspiration.  I read it again, smiling.

Then off I went, thinking, Good to know.