Reservation: it is such a multi-purpose word. I don’t even know if I presently have the attention span to fully give it justice, but it does spark some fun in me.
I have reservations in speaking my mind. I most certainly can become pointed, and have reservations in engaging in opinion. This sort of a reservation can be construed as a ‘filter’. Sometimes, my filter becomes clogged with dust and pet dander, and my reservation disappears. And I tell it like I see it…..The World According To Lisa. Then, things get ignited, and I loose friends, and an otherwise peaceful day becomes ignited with angst: some belonging to me, some belonging to others, and I become regretful (although not necessarily remorseful). Then, I change my pet dander-filled filter with a new, fresh out of the plastic wrap, clean filter. At that point, I have a renewed reservation.
Sometimes, I have a reservation at a hotel….then again, sometimes I just pull in to the lobby and check in (like in January of 2017, when I was driving through an ice storm from Birmingham to Savannah, and upon my heart pounding out of my chest, I pulled in to a hotel on I-16.) To make a reservation or not is dictated by all sorts of things. Sometimes, MAKING a reservation is all for naught, such as the time that the Holiday Inn lost mine….this was the Holiday Inn in Mississippi. On the Choctaw Reservation.
I have been on two Indian Reservations in my lifetime. The Reservation in Mississippi, belonging to the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians. Yes, the one where the Holiday Inn sat; the one that lost my reservation. This was run by silly White people, and thus does not reflect on my Choctaw friends. Years later, I found myself on the Cherokee Reservation in western North Carolina, in the mountains. I nearly wound up there longer than originally intended; as I was trying to leave, my gas light came on. I was on a side road, going up the side of one of the mountains. I topped the mountain, and spotted a Mom and Pop gas station on the initial decline. I coasted to it, only to find it closed. The sign said, “Out of gas”. Once again, my heart flew out of my chest like a caged bird that had just been set free. As I gained control of my heart rate, a couple pulled in, ironically in the same set of circumstances that I found myself in. They looked at me incredulously as I rolled my window down to inform them the place was out of gas. Finally, the man spoke up and informed me of a BP at the bottom of the mountain. BP had just SHAT in my “backyard” – in the Gulf Coast, effecting the coastline of Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, and Louisiana, and I had sworn off patronizing them. I silently cursed the entire debacle, as I had no other choice. The couple told me to follow them down the mountain. We coast down to the bottom, and I immediately saw the green BP sign. We floated in, filled up, and I thanked them profusely for allowing me to keep up with them – I generally read people well, and had no reservation about their normalcy and good nature; thankfully, they had no reservation about mine, either.
Never let reservations cause unnecessary strife in life……..Happy 2018!!