I watched last fall as two dedicated volunteers were deadheading a large group of daisies. I wondered if dead heading to flowers is as getting my back scratched is to me.
I wish there was a device called “The Eyeglass Washer.” Sort of like a dishwasher for eyeglasses. Just put them in the device and they get cleaned, dried, and polished overnight.
So, I am in the doctor’s office awaiting his arrival to go over some test results. He knocks, comes in says hello, sits down in front of me, then turns immediately to the oversized computer monitor. He touches the keyboard, and as it lights up, he leans waaaaay back, to the point where I was afraid he was going to fall over backwards. He blinks rapidly several times, then squints as if he is looking far into the distant night sky looking for a shooting star. Whatever he was looking for obviously appeared and he suddenly leans in towards the monitor to the point where his nose is no more than six inches away.
He then leans waaaay back again, blinking and squinting, and repeats his zeroing in to the same ‘six inches away from the monitor’ distance. Now, I am beginning to be concerned. What I’ve learned is that if a medical person says, “Lets take another look at that,” it means I am special, but not in a good way.
Doc repeats whipping his upper body back and forth in silence, (save for the grunting and what can only be described as nose-whistles each time he tilts forward) a half-dozen more times. He finally relaxes to center, turns towards me, and says, “Good news, you’re good.”
He then stands up, says, “Any questions? I say “No”. He then shakes my hand and leaves.
I am tempted to say, “I’m not so sure you are,” but don’t, because I decide that might not be such a prudent thing to say to my Ophthalmologist. SOMETIMES I CAN keep my mouth shut. Another reminder that I don’t need to say everything I think.😊
A friend was relating a story about how he was on his way to his son’s basketball game, was involved in an accident and ended up in the hospital. I’m reminded that at times I am just along for the ride and my only choices relate to what tools I have in my emotional pocket.
I was traveling through a state and was listening to a news broadcast. This state had recently announced an $80,000,000 surplus. The “Law and Order” governor had announced that it would spend ALL the surplus, every cent of it, for building and remodeling state prisons. This, a state where over 40% of the children need free school lunch programs. Interesting value systems at play here. Choices.
“Jakeing,” in the tractor-trailer world is using the truck’s engine to help slow down the vehicle. If your ears have ever nearly been blown up by the racket made by a truck down-shifting as a method to slow itself down, you know “Jakeing.” In some areas you will see signs prohibiting it. I was talking with a friend (he knows the company that created the device that originally made “Jakeing” possible) and I had the thought that people can be “Jaked” too. If you are speaking and I interrupt, the racket I make by my interrupting has the effect of slowing you down, sometimes even stopping you. When it happens to me, I’m not always sure it wasn’t the right thing for them to do.
Our local toll road reads licenses plates and sends a bill at the end of the month. I’ll bet if I had to pay cash, I would use it less. I would guess they already know that too.
I spent some time at a place in Arizona recently called the Cochise Stronghold. You can probably figure out how it got its name. Cochise was a leader of the Chiricahua Apache people. It is now a national forest area. While there, I read a historical marker that promoted the idea that the area was first settled in the late 1880’s. Really? As in, no one had been living there until then? The marker suggested Cochise Stronghold’s first settlers didn’t arrive before the 1880’s. Really? I wonder what one would call the people who were already living there and had been for generations. And not as nomads as one might think. Those people had gardens. Fruit trees. Permanent homes.
A group of people were introducing themselves at I conference I attended. One lady stated her name and followed that up with “And, I am his wife,” referring to her husband who had just introduced himself. “His wife,” “My” husband. I was left wondering what the unintended effect is of such statements. How about “and he and I are married, or he and I are a ‘Thing, or “are here together,” as she pointed towards the man she came with. The possessive word “his” struck me. My illusion that I own anyone or that they own me has created more than a good bit of pain in my life.
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