When we moved to Connecticut I had to go back to the manual on how to parallel park a car.  I had not honed the skill over the years.  I drove to Mystic to go to one of the quaint stores to stare at all the collections of fun things that I covet.  I drove a BIG VAN.  I found a space in front of a bistro where two men were having a meal and a chat.  I had the manual on the seat next to me.  I chewed on my lips and muttered a fragment of prayer.  I lined up the huge van alongside of a BMW.  Then I backed up very carefully.  I had to avoid hitting the BMW and the expensive sport car to my rear.

There was enough space for my behemoth of a van and two feet of spare room.  I turned the wheel and stopped to let thirty or more cars on Main Street avoid hitting me.  I had to jockey the van many times to get the angle right.  When the curb ripped the tires I knew that I was parked.

I had forgotten what I had gone into Mystic for in the first place.  My heart was racing and it felt unhealthy.  The two gentlemen in the bistro watched my entire efforts.  I emerged from our van, clenching my keys in my teeth and dropping the entire contents of my purse onto the street.  As I picked up the contents of my purse, dodging traffic, I saw the two men stand up in the bistro.  They applauded my parking job.  I felt welcomed to Mystic.

I smiled at the two men, dropping my keys onto the sidewalk.  I wandered into the store that I remembered was my curious destination.  It was full of things that I coveted and could not afford.  But, it was well worth the trip into town. I vowed, at that time, that my next mode of transportation would be a smaller car.  I came from a state much larger than Connecticut.  It was filled with impossible parking spaces.

I have wondered often, who those men were that day.  They did not know it, but they were my welcoming committee to Connecticut.