Stupid Human Tricks

Forest Gump's mother said, "Stupid is as stupid does". She was very correct. Humans have a large capacity for stupidity and I must admit that I am one hundred percent human. I don't claim to be any world traveler, however, the spouse and I do venture around quite a bit in the USA.  When folks leave the environs they are accustomed to and journey into unfamiliar territory, it is the perfect situation for one's ignorance to pop right out in front of everyone.  Sometimes, our mistakes can actually make the other poor souls, out there muddling around, feel a little smug.  Oh, don't deny it, we've all been there. Some pitiful jerk makes a big boo-boo, stumps their toe, runs into a glass door, goes into the wrong restroom, etc. and we feel a bit better about our shortcomings. We just cluck our tongue and think, what an idiot.  Of course, in our heart of hearts, we are praying oh, lordy, don't let me do something assinine like that today. 

Well, the spouse and I have been traveling the last couple of weeks. True to form, we were not without our small stupid tricks.  Of course, there is the expected and norm. You are just bound to miss an exit, take a wrong road or have to backtrack.  You know, you drive all those miles down to the beach, walk around and get your shoes full of sand. Then on the way back, you say "Wait a minute, where was that old lighthouse that was supposed to be down there?" And your partner in stupidity says, "What lighthouse?"  And, Oh my goodness, Washington DC is not for the faint of heart. Trust me, you may think you're pretty smart, but if you're not accustomed to maneuvering around in a big city, YOU KNOW NOTHING. The simple act of using the metro rail system is a huge challenge. You feel like you're in a weird movie where you are the only two moving in slow motion amidst a sea of fast forwarded blurry figures. 

I have observed that the American way of life is very consistent across the country, but there are all those those small quirky differences. Some things are due to climate or terrain and some are just cultural preferences, such as foods they eat or don't eat or season in a way that is very unlike what you are used to. Not to mention, what your stomach is used to. I have to say that from Texas to the nation's capitol and back, there was always someone willing to help. That is encouraging. Someone notices your deer in the headlights look of complete lost-ness and steps up and gives a hand. 

I, personally, challenged a previous record for stupid on the first half of our journey.  For nearly 2000 miles, I b----ed and whined because I didn't have data service on my cell phone. I had really counted on using that phone to check hotels, weather and those things your hubby "nascars" past that make you wonder, hey-y, what was that? I was fully prepared to give my cell phone company what for, as soon as I returned home. We had an extra day outside of Washington and I decided to go into an AT&T store. I broke the take a number and wait until you turn gray protocol and stepped forward, said to the nerdy bespectled twelve year old behind the counter, "Excuse me, I don't mind waiting, as long as I am sure you can help me, since I am so far from home?...." more stupidity spilling from my lips.

Dodging the little knives of hatred from all the other weary waiters that were hurling at the two of us, he took my cell phone, touched it twice and said, "There you go, Mam. You just had the packet data turned off." I wanted to know what the packet data was, but the phone store had suddenly became a dangerous place to be. 

I gave my biggest Texas smile, said, "Well, bless your heart,"  pranced my old ass out, happy as a pig in mud.  My phone was working, I would look up the whatchamacallit later. Even the perpetual stupid get a break on occasion, or a hand up or manage to do something brilliant. The spouse and I fully participate in the dance of life, even if sometimes we don't know the steps.  JO

Brain to Mouth, Stay Out of the Author/Reviewer Wars

Do you ever feel like you have a direct path from your brain to your mouth...you know a tube without a filter or trapdoor that just lets words fall out of your brain and go spewing out of your mouth? If they are bad or hurtful words, they are written on someone's heart with indelible ink, they just never go away.  Oh, there can certainly be regret, there can be apologies and the words can maybe be covered, faded away with time. The truth is, They Never Go Away.

My spouse is a man of very strong and true character and a man with a rather unforgiving temper that he has worked hard to moderate.  Over the years, I often told him, "No matter how right and justified you are, once you loose your temper, once you release critical and hateful words on someone, you instantly become the bad guy. All your rightness is lost in an instant. It just flies away on the wings of anger and you are left somehow looking and feeling like the s--t heel.

I have to say, that even though I am a gal who often has a mouth in motion, I rarely say everything that I am thinking.  Even when it is something that I truly think, if it is a negative thing, I simply can't bear that glint of pain that comes into someone's eyes. I just never thought it was my job to inform my friends and family of all their faults or some secret occurrence that they were not aware of. Some of the worst conversations I ever had, began with "I don't think you know this, but blah, blah, blah...blah blah. Sorry, but I just thought you should know." Even if it was a truth and something I did need to know, the only real BUT(T) in that sentence is the teller.  That self righteous speaker that is sure you must be informed.

Now, unfortunately in the wild west, wide open internet world, this unfiltered brain to mouth tube has become filled with toxic slime.  Because, no-one has to actually see the glint of pain in the other person's eyes. They can just sit in anonymity, in the bright glare of their computer screen and spew out their hateful rivers of negative dialogue.

While nothing compares to the social media bullies that have become vicious and dangerous, a fray that has been ongoing for several months now is a perfect example of why you should close the trapdoor to your mouth and not spill out every thought that is churning in your mind, onto your keyboard.  I don't need to go into detail about the confrontational and malevolent  internet skirmish between SOME authors and SOME reviewers.  It's easy to find all the gory details on the web.  The hubby has a favorite saying, "The truth is somewhere in the middle, not out on either extreme end." I agree.  The whole situation, is indicative of what I always warned my beloved about. It has escalated into such viciousness that the right side or viewpoint has been buried. It is now completely covered with the nastiness of both sides.

Momma said, life isn't fair. It's eternally true and we know it. We just don't want to accept it.  On occasion we need to shut our mouth and stay out of the fray. Some things are not easily resolved.  Just because internet combatants can't see where their word bombs are landing, doesn't mean they aren't doing plenty of damage. Think before you open your mouth or touch those keys.  JO

Cabin Fever

Is it Spring yet?  In the front yard, the view is brown. That's because the front street side yard has the good cover, the nice grass that the neighbors and passerbys can see. And that good thick St. Augustine has enough sense to not put on it's pretty green summer frock until Winter has made it's exit.

 Now the back yard, well that's a different story.  The back yard is the heavily used playground, the well trampled home of the patio that takes us from garage or trips to the mailbox into the back door. The back door, where all of our family and close friends are welcomed into our home.   The back yard is not for show, it's for use. This space has all the trappings of warm weather outdoor activities, the picnic table and chairs, the outdoor seating, the bar-b-que and fire pit. The place we stand around the fire in the early Spring and Fall, don our sandals and shorts in the Summer and flip burgers, lounge around on the seating and have iced beverages.  The yard surrounded by a tall wooden fence that blocks out the eyes but not the pleasant sounds of the neighbors as they enjoy their days. 

The grass in the back yard is not the lush lawn of the front, it's the very diverse mix of whatever will grow in sandy soil, some areas fully exposed to the changing climate and some covered with tall old hardwood trees.  This eclectic stretch of  grass is not shy, popping up this time of year in all different heights and shapes and with great courage, it is dressed in green. It braves the undeniable fact that any night could leave it covered with frost.  And though, when (and IF) the summer finally sets in, here in the scorching Texas sun, it will struggle to survive and not look so good, for now it gives us this promise that Spring might soon arrive.

Of course, I don't for a second trust that this long Winter is done. I don't need some stinking old ground hog to tell me that.  When my feet hit the floor in the morning, I immediately slide into my fuzzy house shoes, grab some fleece to wear and follow that chilly trail that the hubby has created through the house to the coffee pot.  That well worn path that leads from his recliner to the window and back to the window, and to the kitchen, to the window and to the bathroom...to the window and dejectedly back to the chair.  As if, looking out the window will somehow make old man Winter pick up his pace and go away.  But the old man stubbornly dawdles around.  I'm speaking of the Winter now, not my cantankerous but lovable old spouse. Old man Winter just keeps hanging around and even if you step into the bright sun, he coughs out his cold breath on you, to let you know he is still in residence.  

So, the bold back yard junk grass gives me a spot of hope.  Among the birds popping around in the weeds (might as well admit it, it's mostly weeds) is a robin and the fruitless pair tree that is always the very first to bloom actually has buds.  The hubby is banging around in his closet and he comes up his Winter trodden trail, muttering to himself, By God, I'm going to the golf course today. Our temporary separation has become imperative.  He, determined to go outside and me, dreaming of a silent television, clean counter tops and perhaps a purse shopping expedition.  It's not Spring yet, but I see a distant vision, feel a promise of warmth.  Perhaps we will cure this cabin fever.  As always, the freshness of Spring is wonderful medicine.  Soon, we plan to take a vacation, we'll walk in the sun, outside and like each other again...at least until the summer heat makes us miserable and grumpy and pushes us back inside under the air conditioner.

Just a Smile and My Skivvies

Many a tall Texas tale begins,"...well, I heard this ter'ble ruckus out back, so I raced out side! There I stood, sportin' not a stitch but my boots and my skivvies."  A big grin always accompanies this recounting.

What the heck are skivvies anyway? It is said to be an old trademark, but that is not substantiated by any patents. I found a pretty convincing definition by a respected British wordsmith. He says it's military slang for  man's underwear. He cites a newspaper quote from 1918 that uses the term. This makes sense to me because I have heard the hubby use this term frequently over nearly five decades.  Just about any military or ex-military person is likely to be heard using that term.

A few years ago, we reconnected with a long lost buddy from the hubby's stint in the military. The friend and wife came for a visit. Catch up stories as well as old memories were shared, as baby back ribs smoked on the grill. The vintage friend told us that he sends out a running report to his folks and friends of the number of gophers and skunks that he eliminates from his spacious country property.  Old friend's charming country house sits a ways back from the road, but the highway in front is a fairly busy one.

He tells of one late night adventure. Awakened by a noise, he pulls on his boots, grabs his gun and stealthfully exits his back door.  Sure as shootin', there's a skunk, waddling around. Noting that the wind is drifting back in his direction, he cunningly decides not to blow the stinker away so close to the house. He stalks the skunk away and across the highway and into the ditch, which is a good place for the critter to become a statistic. Friend raises up just in time for a big Walmart truck to blast by, giving him a loud TOOT! TOOT! as he stands in the waving tall weeds, with his smile and his skivvies.

His story reminds me of many such instances through the years.  The hubby that sat in a lawn chair beside our motor home in a Hill Country rest stop. It was after midnight, his rifle lay across his skivvie clad lap, boots on his feet. He quietly scowled at the rowdy and drunk teenagers, cavorting in their headlights. Little did we know that we had encroached on their weekend hangout. Shortly, the Sheriff glided by, ignoring the armed, half naked man in the lawn chair and removed the revelers from the property. 

Indeed, in our neck of the woods,  it's a Texas tradition. Scantily clad men, armed and rising to the occasion.  As a young girl, I sat on wooden back steps and watched the neighbor across the alley slam out his back screen door, his white boxers bright in the moonlight. A man that I had not even previously seen at his window, jumped around, holding his leg and squealed, "You shot me!"

The neighbor's wife stood at the door in her summer robe, her hair up in curlers and lamented, "Goodness John, you got on your un-der-wear!"  Television was limited and black and white, this was a pretty good show. 

My grandfather scatting away a liquored up transient from the porch;  my father chasing a shadowy figure from messing with our old pick up truck.  In these parts, if you are on our private property uninvited, if you are toting away something that does not belong to you, if you threaten our life or limb, or if you're merely eating up the roots of our well nurtured Saint Augustine grass...don't think for one little New York minute that our lack of proper britches will save you. And when your hide is hanging on our fence post (either figuratively or physically), the tale that is told will most certainly be accompanied by a smile.

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