In 1991, Walgreens first opened their drive-through pharmacies, and I was thrilled beyond belief. No longer did I have to find a parking spot, climb out of the car, and trudge inside just to pick up a prescription. Inside, of course, I would always be tempted by the displays of candy, potato chips, and soda, which would encourage spending extra money (and adding a few extra pounds). Instead, I could stay pleasantly seated, roll down the window, and have the prescriptions placed right in my hand. It felt like such a luxury, especially on rainy days or when I had the kids in the backseat, or when I rushed out of the house in unmatched clothing. Yes, I sometimes had to sit in line behind other cars with the engine running, spewing fumes and contributing to the greenhouse effect, but somehow, I carelessly did not care.

That is why I was so upset when the drive-thru window was closed recently. I could not believe it! I drove up expecting my usual convenience, only to find a big sign taped to the glass saying “Broken. Please come inside.” Inside? Again? I wanted to pound on the window and cry out, “Why? Why? Why?”

They said it would take a few weeks to get the part to fix it. A few weeks? What kind of part takes weeks to replace? Was it being shipped from China, stuck at customs, held hostage by tariffs? I pictured my poor little drive-thru window languishing somewhere in a warehouse, abandoned and unloved. I was not about to be defeated. I would show them! I promptly called and had my prescriptions transferred to another Walgreens a few miles away that had a working drive-thru.

A week ago, a yellow warning light came on my car’s dashboard. I took it to the mechanic, and he told me I needed a new brake rotor. Lo and behold, the part was on back order due to “global shipping delays and tariffs,” he explained, as if that would comfort me. He said the car would be okay for the two weeks it would take to get the part and just cautioned me to drive safely. I nodded, pretending I understood, while secretly praying I could continue to stop safely for the next two weeks. I do not mind praying at all, but it seemed sacrilegious to pray for a car part instead of for a needy person.

I try desperately to avoid red lights and drive like a saint. If I see that way up ahead the light is red, I slow down to a crawl so that by the time I reach the light it has turned green. Otherwise, I actually drive the speed limit, probably for the first time in my life. 25 miles per hour MEANS 25 miles per hour, even though other cars get annoyed and zoom around me. There is only one more week of brake-avoiding driving before the part gets here.

While I was out and about, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a box of my favorite frozen fruit mochi balls. My granddaughter in California taught me to love these squishy balls of goodness. The first time I bit into one, I was not sure if I was eating a dessert or a small stress ball. The outside was soft and chewy, like a sweet, edible pillow. Then my teeth sank into the center, where it was creamy and ice-cream-like, tasting like a melon explosion. It was part comfort food, and part toy you can play with and squish between your fingers before finally giving in and eating it. I have been hooked on them ever since. Unfortunately, this product has also been the victim of tariffs on Asian goods, and the price rose by 30%, (which is still a small price to pay for this treat.)

Tariffs, delays, and increased prices may test my patience, but they also teach me gratitude. When I finally roll through that drive-up window at the pharmacy, stop safely at a red light, or share a box of mochi with my granddaughter, I know that I am rich in the ways that really matter.