Hurry Up and Wait

Posted on July 1, 2016 by Sheila Moss

airport.jpg

Why are we in such a hurry?  Would the world really end if we got where we are going 10 minutes later?  If it would, couldn’t we just leave 10 minutes sooner?  I had occasion to travel by plane and watch people – people in a great hurry.  They arrive at the airport and are immediately greeted by a line to check in luggage.

Because people are so impatient, there is also a kiosk to check in easier and, of course, faster.  People really in hurry have already printed their boarding pass so they can use express check in. They don’t want to stop at the ticket counter and stand in one of those time gobbling lines.

After finally getting rid of the luggage, it’s off to the concourse to find the departing gate.  Some people are so impatient, they don’t even check baggage at all, but drag it behind them on wheels.  “Saves time,” they say.  “Don’t have to wait to get your baggage when you get off.” Also, don’t have to worry about the airlines losing it, a really, big, super-duper time consumer.

So there they go, dragging suitcases on wheels, up ramps, down ramps, over moving sidewalks, up escalators, and down escalators, really saving a great deal of time.  If we could collect all the time saved at airports, we could probably extend the end of the world by billions of years.

Next comes that horrible time consuming obstacle, the scanner or metal detector.  Valuable seconds are lost emptying pockets, removing shoes, and poking purses and luggage through the conveyor belt.  If spare change or a belt buckle sets off an alarm, forget it! The hurried passenger becomes a hostage of the airport security guards for five or more minutes, at least, before they can be fleeced enough to satisfy the security guards that no madman with a firearm is boarding, intent on hijacking the plane.

Passing inspection, passengers are free to proceed, and proceed, and proceed.  Seems like they will never get there.  Why do airports always make the gates for impatient people the last gate at the end of the concourse?  It is almost as if they know who is impatient and planed it as a cruel joke.

At last, the correct gate is found, and another wait begins.  People fidget, they read, they use cell phones, laptop computers or watch TV, if there is one.  Why doesn’t the plane get here?  Don’t airlines know people are in a hurry?  Why do they think people fly?

At last the attendants come out.  Before they can announce the flight, the suitcase people, who were in too big a hurry to check in at the ticket counter, begin to line up.  After all, people in a hurry need to be first.

Finally, boarding begins and chaos evokes.  Never mind that seats are assigned.  People cannot wait; they stand by eagerly waiting for their row to be called so they can rush on the plane.  Some don’t wait, but cut ahead of others before their row is even called.  On the plane the early boarders who, of course, have wheeled luggage and are trying to put it in overhead compartments, block all the aisles.

The other people, who are also in a hurry, are very annoyed by not being able to get to their own seat and put their own wheeled luggage overhead.  Should the flight be delayed in taking off for a few minutes, people begin to fidget, murmur, and look at watches, sure they will never make their connection on time.

At the end of the flight, people are out of their seat belts and in the aisles before the plane can stop taxing. Bags are jerked from overhead compartments and impatience evokes until the door is finally opened and the hurry-up people run from the plane pulling their wheels behind them.

Yes, it really is too bad there is no way to collect up all the time saved at airports.  We could dole it out to the impatient passengers along with airline tickets and give them all sorts of time to board.  Guess it wouldn’t work, though.  They would want to save it in a plan for frequent fliers and get preferred seating – ahead of everyone else, naturally.

©1999 S Moss
Posted in Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Parenting Payback

Posted on June 30, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Graduation

Some parents seem to suffer under the delusion that the affliction of parenthood will be ended if they ever get ‘em raised.  Yes, get ‘em out of diapers, get ‘em potty trained, socialize ‘em and teach them manners. Educate them and send them off into the world to live happily ever after.  Then sit back, hands folded, and smile about a job well done.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!  This is a fallacy  It never will happen.  They are always children, they never grow up, they always have problems, and they always come to parents for solutions.  “Once a parent, always a parent” is an old but true adage.  It never ends.  What happens is not that the small problems magically go away; instead they multiply and become large problems

The hardest chore facing a parent has nothing to do with snotty noses, scraped knees, or dirty diapers.  The really difficult challenge that all parents face is:  “How in the world to get rid of the brats.”  Every time we think the nest is finally empty, we turn around and one of the chicks is back in it.

They have graduated college and have no place to live.  They are having their fleabag apartment exterminated, so they come to stay with us.  They are out of a job and the landlord doesn’t understand financial crisis.  They are emotionally devastated and going through a breakup.  They are moving and need a temporary respite between landings.  They have a slob for a roommate – or they are the slob and the roommate has kicked them out.   The list is endless.

What can a parent do – barricade the door and have the phone disconnected?  Remember these are the same kids for whom we have changed diapers, gone to endless little league games, gone to PTA and Scout meetings, nursed through measles and flu, taken to music and swimming lessons, tutored through math, hauled to the orthodontist, taken to the emergency room for broken bones, given birthday parties, bandaged scraped knees and wounded egos, driven in car pools, and cried for with pride and relief when they finally graduated high school. How can a parent who is any sort of caring person turn down his or her own flesh and blood?  Yes, parents are a soft touch – we are stuck with the brats.

Even when we think that they are settled, have a job and are secure, we are still not rid of them.  They are irresponsible and don’t get life insurance. They fail to take care of dental needs and get the toothache.  Do we just let them suffer?  The dilapidated car breaks down or is wrecked and there is no transportation.  They become irresponsible with drugs, sex, alcohol, or get in legal trouble and need help. They spend more money than they earn and get into financial difficulty.  This is when it gets really tough.  Are they still kids when they begin to have adult problems?  In other words, the small problems that once were so important fade into insignificance.

The really strange thing is that everyone thinks his or her kids are immune.  “Not my kid,” they think.  Right!  Every parent thinks that if they raise their children “right,” they will grow up to be mature, responsible, self-sufficient adults.  So, show me one honest parent with grown children that has never had a problem of some kind with their adult offspring.  Our kids are human and have shortcomings just like the rest of us.  They fall down, and who is there to help them back to their feet?  Well, good old mom and dad, who else.

When do we draw the line, cut the apron strings with vigor, and force responsibility and independence, and when do we follow our heart and step in with assistance?  We grow weary of being used and have a right to have a life of our own.  How much help is too much help and at what point do parents turn their back and say “NO”?  If only the worse thing a parent had to worry about was muddy shoes and uneaten broccoli.

When the children finally become adults and are forced or alienated into some degree of self-sufficiency and maturity, parents are finally able to think of themselves and their own needs for the first time in a long while.  Then the grandchildren begin to come along.  Who better for a new parent to ask for advice than the person who raised them?  Suddenly, as a grandparent, the same person who knew nothing, as a parent is now smarter than the wisest guru.  There are discipline problems, sicknesses, babysitting needs.

And so, those of us who have chosen to procreate ourselves have made a permanent decision.  There is no escape.  Where do you go to divorce your children?  We are doomed to be parents for the rest of our lives.  We accept our curse because only with the punishment do we receive the rewards. We count our blessings not our troubles.

But somewhere deep inside, we secretly smile, not with happiness but with the sure knowledge that has come to us in our living of life.  With the new generation comes a new wisdom – ITS PAYDAY!  At last our ungrateful child will understand what it is really like to be a parent.  And the payback is innocently rocking in the cradle right now. As we look at the grandchild, we see our own child again, our genes reincarnated, ourselves.

The cycle is renewed. We feel the pending heartbreak before it even happens.

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Family, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Waiting Game

Posted on June 29, 2016 by Sheila Moss

line.jpg

It occurred to me that half of my life is spent waiting.  I was waiting for an elevator at the time of this astute revelation.  Elevators are so slow.  They seem to never be there when I am.  Somehow I get the feeling that they might be hiding in the basement, snickering like children and just waiting until I get halfway up the stairs to speed up to my floor, ding the bell, and pop open when it is too late.

I also spend a great deal of time waiting in traffic.  I commute to work from the suburbs and the “daily drive” is nearly always the “daily wait.”  I’m really not an impatient person.  No… really!  Some delay in life is unavoidable.  As I wait in traffic, or in a line, my life keeps slipping by without me.  I sometime feel that I might leave home in the morning a normal (more or less) middle-aged woman and arrive at work years later, a wrinkled and gray old codger.  When they ask me what happened, I will say, “The traffic was murder today.  Worst commute I ever had.”

I’ve read helpful time management hints, which suggest taking thing with you to do while waiting.  Then when unexpectedly delayed, there is something productive to do with the time.  Great idea, but I usually forget to take anything.  I did try balancing my checkbook while waiting in the doctor’s office once.  The man waiting next to me kept looking out of the corner of his eye see what my balance was and grinning.  Also, I really hated having the whole waiting room see me nearly cry when I couldn’t get things to balance.

For a while, I carried a paper back book in my purse which I could whip out and read.  I picked up that helpful suggestion in a time management class also.  It really doesn’t work too well.  Just as I get to the juicy part, I am at the front of the line, breathing hard, and then can’t remember what I wanted because I’m still thinking about the book.  Anyhow, the line at the post office is usually just long enough to be inconvenient, not long enough to actually get much reading done.

My newest aggravation with waiting is at the pharmacy.  Not too many of us seem to be able to get a few years past prime without having a pill of some sort or another that is necessary to keep us ticking.  There is always a line at the pickup window, and the person at the front of it always has a question about their medicine, a problem with their insurance, or wants to stand and chat with the pharmacist assistant about their ailment.  Good grief, lady, can’t you see there are 8 people in line?  Who cares about your gall bladder?

Lines and waits seem to be a part of the inevitable future on our over-crowded planet.  No matter want we want to do, if it is worth doing, it must be worth waiting in line.  I thought I had learned patience long ago.  It was a part of my higher education.  They taught us patience in college by having us stand in long waiting lines to register – psychology students called it behavior modification.

I wonder if the necessity of unavoidable waits is a large part of our affair with the cell phone.  It is something to do while waiting.  We can always use the time to text home and say, “I’ll be late.”

Well, I might as well get used to it.  “Time lost is gone forever,” as they say in the book of familiar quotations.  Maybe I’ll just be like the little old ladies who carry their knitting wherever they go.  I could probably knit sweaters for all the homeless in the city during the commute to work in the mornings.  Of course, I’ll have to learn to knit first.  Wonder if the homeless could use some cross-stitched items instead?

It all seems so hopeless.  If you have any suggestions, be sure to let me know. I’ll be waiting….

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Rants | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Rocking Chair

Posted on June 28, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Front Porch

How long since you saw anybody rocking on a real rocking chair?  I’m not talking about the kind that sits still and only the top part of the chair rocks.  I’m talking about REAL rocking chairs, the kind with curved rockers on the bottom – the kind that makes the cats scream, grab their tails, and run with fear.

Rocking chairs are said to be a part of the American character. Back in Early American times, we were a people always on the move. We came here seeking a new beginning, a new life in a new place. We were pioneers, always moving, crossing the country, pushing the frontier, couldn’t be satisfied.  Seems we could not be still, even when sitting… so we put rockers on our chairs.  Today we are on the go more than ever. We have become too busy even for our rocking chairs.

Now, I had a great rocking chair at one time. It was the old-fashioned kind, dozens of layers of paint on it. My mother rocked me on it when I was a baby; then when I was too old to be rocked, it went to the front porch where the grownups sat after supper to enjoy the coolness of evening and watch the kids chase lightning bugs. When I became a mom, I confiscated it and took it home.  I rocked my babies on it once upon a time. But they too grew up, as babies will. The rocking chair fell into disuse and became clutter and an eyesore.

The old rocking chair had a second life for a while. I had the layers of paint removed, the chair was refinished, and a new rush seat replaced the old one.  The chair moved to my living room for a season where it squeaked and creaked if anyone used it, joints loosened by age and absence of the paint that was probably helping to hold it together. But my house now, like so many newer and smaller homes, has few nooks and crannies and no place for a big old space-gobbling chair with rockers trailing out behind and knobs bumping into things.

It’s in the attic now. Nowadays, rockers are not seen as a necessity. Baby swings are electric. Babies are rocked automatically without human intervention. But, you know, something is lost by putting our rocking chairs in the attic or relegated them to an unused front porch while we stay inside in the air-conditioned comfort. There is something very basic to about the rocking rhythm of these chairs, like being in a mother’s womb – rocking in rhythm with ourselves and with the world.

I’ve been doing a lot of walking lately for the exercise and for the joy.  I like to walk late in the afternoon about twilight, when the fireflies come out and the day is coming to an end. Funny, I had not noticed all the empty rocking chairs sitting on porches before. Guess its a southern thing; I don’t remember any rocking chairs on porches at all when I lived in the North. In the South, we remember our heritage, rocking and being rocked, but we don’t rock anymore.  Rocking chairs have become a decorative item, a memory of a distant past when things were simpler. They have lost their function, to rock, to soothe, to remind us of where we came from.

I think maybe I’d better find that old chair and make a place for it somehow. Maybe I need to make time to rock, to rock my grandchild like I rocked his mother and like my mother rocked me, to make rhythmic memories while there is still time.

©1999 Sheila Moss
Photo Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor, Southern Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Who Burned the Popcorn?

Posted on June 27, 2016 by Sheila Moss

popcorn

With the advent of modern technology, a new convenience has come to the office along with computers, printers, copiers, and fax machines.  This new convenience is the office microwave.  Most offices have one hidden someplace where employees can sneak in to warm their frozen dinners or a cup of hot water for tea.  Ours happens to be in an empty cubicle right next to me.

What we are going to talk about today is the popularity of the microwave for making popcorn.  While it is convenient to have a fresh snack during work breaks, not everyone remembers to watch the popcorn while popping it.  They simply throw it in the microwave, turn the knob, and take off to do something else while it pops.  This brings up the obvious problem of burnt popcorn.  Every so often, someone burns popcorn and the whole office smells, to the dismay of the other employees who must work in the stench.

Now, I must admit that I too like microwave popcorn.  However, I am always very careful to watch the microwave and to stand closely by while the popcorn pops so I can listen for the tell-tale slow down in popping sounds that signals when it is time to take it out.  Also, I stay tuned for the smallest whiff of smoke and snatch the popcorn instantly from the microwave oven if something goes awry, long before it burns badly enough to fill the office with a burned popcorn smell.

Last week I decided that lunch did not quite satisfy me, and some popcorn would be delicious. I put my bag of corn in the microwave as usual, and set the time as usual, but was then distracted from my cooking duties by a ringing phone.  I was not worried as I could hear the popcorn popping furiously.  Then suddenly, it happened.  There was the unmistakable smell of something burning to a crisp even though the popcorn was still popping like crazy.

I ran to snatch it out.  Too late!  The bag didn’t look burned, but the smoke smell was awful.  I could not believe it, but I was guilty.  What do you do with burned popcorn?  I dared not open it as the smell would get out and become even worse.  No place to throw it away where it would not continue smoking and no way to get outside except down eight floors on an elevator.  I was afraid that the fire sprinklers would activate.

Who burned the popcorn?”  Exclaimed a fellow worker.

I considered playing innocent, but figured they would sniff me out sooner or later.  “It was me,” I admitted.

Soon others were coming around to see: “Who burned the popcorn?”

“I did,” I confessed.  The aroma was all over the office by now.

Every time someone else came by, it was the same question, “Who burned the popcorn?”

I sank lower and lower into my chair, as I was forced to admit over and over that I was the one stupid enough to burn up my popcorn in the office microwave.  I stole the deodorizer spray out of the restroom and sprayed, but it didn’t help much.  Even worse, after the terrible odor finally subsided, it seemed to be reactivated every time someone else used the microwave to warm anything, even water.

“What is that smell?” they kept asking.

“Er… I guess it is from my popcorn,” was my humiliated reply, as I endured looks that were like bullets of ice. Finally someone decided to check out the problem.  Looking all the way in the back of the microwave, they pulled out a lump of charcoal that appeared to have been a dinner roll in another life.  Apparently, the roll was left in the microwave and forgotten until I came along with my popcorn and incinerated it.  No telling how long it had been in there before I made it hot enough to burn up.

Wait a minute!  You mean it was not my popcorn after all that caused the problem, but somebody else’s forgotten roll?  I’ve been admitting to something that I’m not guilty of all this time?  I can’t believe it.  I’m innocent!  INNOCENT!  It was NOT my popcorn burning!

My joy was short lived.  Somehow it no longer seems to matter to anyone what burned.  I’d been labeled as one who burns popcorn, and my stigma as a villain seems destined to stay.

“What’s that smell?  Is someone popping corn?”

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Food, Humor, Work Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Things I’ve Learned from Fireflies

Posted on June 26, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Let your light shine – no matter how small.

Don’t be afraid of flying in the dark.

Keep a few secrets – let ‘em wonder.

Believe in magic and life will be more fun.

Even an ugly bug can be beautiful.

Don’t wait until the Fourth of July for fireworks.

Life is short, so shine while you can.

Take a little time for dancing in the dark.

It’s okay to be a glitter bug.

Nothing can ever outshine nature.

Delight in simple things.

Bugs need love too.

Even a worm can glow.

If you don’t want to be caught, fly fast…

Things don’t have to be understood to be enjoyed.

Ask why…but don’t expect an easy answer.

Hold things you love loosely and learn to let them go.

If people don’t understand you, it doesn’t really matter.

Take time to celebrate life.

If your light goes out, wait a minute.

The best things in life are still free.

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Defeated by a Scanner

Posted on June 24, 2016 by Sheila Moss

desktoppc

When do you say enough is enough?

I have just about been “done in” by technology.  Attempting to add a scanner to my PC, I had high hopes and bright ideas of all the wonderful things I would be able to do.  The software installation seemed to go well. All the “next, next, next” buttons flew by and finally the “finish.”  I even passed the “test.”

But when I attempted to run the program, I began to receive a series of “illegal operation” errors.  The computer was having a nervous break down, and I was not far behind.  Why, why, oh, why did I put that stupid scanner software on my computer?  My whole system had gone berserk.

I put in an emergency distress call to my computer manufacturer’s support line and got some even worse news.  My error message showed the system had software with a corrupt file (no kidding).  Solution: Take off all the software and reload it until I found the program causing the problem.  “Well, thanks for the information and I’ll think about it.”  A bit drastic, even though my computer was having a tantrum and sending up skyrockets by now.

I decided to call the manufacturer of the funky scanner and get help.  But two frustrating hours later and even the manufacturer’s tech support technician called it quits, saying it was a conflict with my anti-virus software and that the program could not be loaded.

Now, I remember the day I put that anti-virus software on the machine.   It was being eaten alive by a bug, barely running even in safe mode. That software killed the virus dead.  Let’s not bad mouth the anti-virus folks.  Let’s send ’em love notes.

I decided to try to uninstall the new scanner program.  Voile!  It worked!  No more “illegal operation” messages.  Everything functioned again like magic. I now had a better idea than removing my anti-virus program.  I packed up the scanner and hotfooted it back to the computer store to return it before the 10 days return policy ran out.

Sometimes you just must know when to say when.

One of these days when my hair quits being frizzed and my teeth quit chattering, I’m gonna take the anti-virus software off, buy a scanner, load it, hope it works, reload my anti-virus software and see if it all works together.  For now, though, I am once again “scanner less” – but the good news is I’m no worse off than I was to start with.

I would like to have an old computer and a mallet.  Every time I feel frustrated I would pick up the mallet and smash the computer, sort of like Gallagher smashing watermelons.  Maybe that could preserve my sanity.

©1998 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

We All Scream for Ice Cream

Posted on June 23, 2016 by Sheila Moss

icecream.jpg

A local dairy company has come up with some wonderful flavors of ice cream.  I just finished a bowl of Banana Pudding flavor.  Yes, it did taste like banana pudding, and  I love banana pudding.  It is ice cream, crunched up vanilla wafers, and a swirl of marshmallow – just like mom use to make – except cold.

My very most favorite, though,  is their orange/vanilla yogurt.  It tastes just like a Dreamcicle.  Remember Dreamcicles when you were a kid?  Ice cream coated in orange flavored icy stuff.  Gosh, they were good.  Always melted and fell off the stick if  you didn’t eat fast enough, so I learned to lick pretty fast. Wonder if they even make Dreamcicles any more?

There are all sorts of interesting flavors now:  S’mores, Turtle Tracks, and Moose Tracks are a few others.  You might be able to figure out what S’mores  is like, but  Turtle Tracks is a little more of a challenge.  You know that chocolate candy they call a ‘turtle’ with peanuts and caramel?  You got it.

But never in a million years would you figure out Moose Tracks.  I’ve never figured out the logic to it myself, but it is vanilla with big hunks of chocolate and peanut butter.  Man, I would hunt all day and almost kill for a bowl of it.  It has got to be loaded with calories, and I have to be very good to save up that many fat grams.  But, boy, is it worth it!

Funny how childhood memories seem to be associated with ice cream.  We didn’t worry about calories or fat grams in those days.  Any hot summer afternoon could be cooled down with  a chocolate covered ice cream bar on a stick.  This is another treat that was a sticky mess. The chocolate always slid off the ice cream, which melted and ran down the stick. The challenge was to trying to eat the chocolate coating before it fell off on the ground.

Like ice cream and childhood, life melts away and only the memories remain. Things were so simple when we were young and did not worry about life or death – only ice cream.

©1998 Sheila Moss

Do you have a favorite flavor of ice cream? Of course you do, everyone does.

Posted in Food, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Pampered Pets

Posted on June 22, 2016 by Sheila Moss

catdog

I declare, it’s just getting to where you can’t trust pets anymore.  All my cat does is meow and complain.  She doesn’t like her food and plays finicky, going on a hunger strike until I offer the right food.  She doesn’t want to sleep on the floor, only the best chair in the house will do.  She doesn’t like it if I sleep late in the morning, and walks all over me until I wake up and get out of bed.  What is the world coming to when animals rule?

We spend a fortune in this country every year on pet food, and another fortune on pet care.  I remember the days when cats were cats.  They caught mice and grasshoppers and maybe got cheap cat food occasionally.  Nowadays, you have to give ‘em gourmet cat food in a crystal dish or they turn up their nose.

In the olden days, dogs ran free and slept under the front porch or in a dog house.  They might get some flea and tick powder in the summer and a rabies shot, but they ate table scraps, if there were any, and were glad to get ‘em. Then dog food production became an industry and we found out table scraps are bad for animals.

Now there are dog shows, dog groomers, dog trainers, dog toys, dog health care experts, dog nutritionists and dog stores.  We have giant pet marts that specialize in items only for pets.  The pets are even allowed to go shopping with their owners in these places.  Yes, this country has definitely gone to the dogs.

Well, all said, I must admit that I love pets.  I have both a cat and a dog at my house, and they are well cared for.  After all, it isn’t right to have an animal and neglect it or to fail to care about its needs.  But what every happened to real sand in the sandbox?  Now we have clumping litter and pooper-scoopers.

I tell you, the pets are taking over.  They even have their own websites and blogs.  Yep, it’s true.  I caught my cat walking on the keyboard just the other day.  She denied it and hid under the bed, but I’m sure she was on Facebook.

Guess I am just about as fond of my pets as everyone else.  The fact that there are so many homeless animals and so many animals being put to sleep for humane reasons seems almost unbelievable in view of the “pampered pet” class that we are familiar with.

My cat got out of hand some time ago and has been in charge around my home for a long time.  Animals seem to have a way of working themselves into our home and heart and before we even realize what is happening, they have taken over.

If you happen to run into my cat in a computer chat room, don’t tell her I’ve been complaining.  She will miss the litter box again to show her anger, and I really hate it when she does that! I’m wise to that cat, though.  I know what she is up to – it is just that there does not seem to be much I can do about it.

One of these days when you are not too busy, you might want to visit her website. No doubt about it, the pampered pet set is definitely taking over.

©1998 Sheila Moss

Admit it, how spoiled is your pet?

Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Road Rage

Posted on June 21, 2016 by Sheila Moss

interstate

I live in the suburbs like millions of other Americans and commute to work daily.  Normally, I have about a 30 to 40 minute commute, depending on traffic.  Lately, due to construction on the Interstate, my commute time has become greatly increased, more like an hour a day – each way.  Spending this much time on the road, I’ve become increasingly aware of the driving behaviors of people and their seeming unwillingness to drive in a sane and reasonable manner.

Speeding, changing lanes without signals, cutting off other cars, and my pet peeve – tailgating, are common fare on the Interstates of Nashville.  It strikes me that something is terribly wrong.  Scarcely a day goes by that I don’t see at least one incident that probably should be reported to the police: an accident, a stranded motorist, a stray animal on the roadway, a huge piece of rubber tire, or potholes in the road.  Between construction, road hazards, discourteous drivers, and more cars on the road every day, it becomes increasingly frustrating and difficult to survive.

Many people are fighting this frustration with an escalated aggression that has been dubbed “road rage.”  Indeed, we have probably all seen or experienced it.  The car that tailgates to force us to change lanes, the car that cuts us off with a rapid lane change, the car that weaves in a out of traffic to stay in a lane perceived to be moving a bit faster.  No wonder we are killing ourselves and each other in record numbers – a useless loss.

Many solutions have been suggested: more law enforcement, improved roads, safer cars, drivers’ education.  Good ideas, yet, these are external solutions.  The real solution is within each of us.  We must change our attitudes toward each other and drive with a more tolerance and courtesy.  Never happen?  But look how attitude has changed toward wearing seat belts and drunk driving.  We can do better than we are doing.  We cannot wait for the other person to change first.  It has to be an individual commitment from each of us  – and it has to be soon.

Folks, we are not in the Indianapolis 500.  It does not matter who gets there first or fastest.  You think you are the only person who knows how to drive?  So give the rest of ’em a break!  Rediscover the speed limit.  If they want to pass you, let ’em.  So what?  You’ve got nothing to prove.  If you get home from work 5 or 10 minutes later, will it really matter?  So, let that truck merge in front of you.  He’s a professional driver and in this traffic all day – do a random act of kindness.  So, that stupid lady is on a cell phone and won’t get out of your way?  Empathize.  Maybe she’s worried sick about the kids at home.

Let’s not be caught up in this madness on the highways.  Sure, we’ve got to go with the flow, but we don’t have to be rude and we don’t have to become angry with others because they are so often discourteous.  It doesn’t matter.  It just doesn’t matter.  We cannot control others and we cannot change the world – but we can each change ourselves.

Give a little.  Stay alive.  Take it easy out there.  I am!

©1998 Sheila Moss

Only yesterday on the Interstate a large truck rode my bumper, way too close even though I was in the right-hand lane and doing the speed limit, 70 mph. What do you think about road rage? Have you ever been the victim — or maybe the aggressor?

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