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Shut The Hell Up!

8 Aug

This past weekend I had the pleasure of traveling north to Santa Barbara and meeting my sister and her friend for the weekend.  As we perused the street vendors and kitschy wall hanging plaques we laughed out loud as we read the crass slogans which illuminated truths about our lives.  For instance, one plaque had a picture of a woman in an apron and alongside her read, “The menu for the night? Take it or leave it!”

Now fast forward to Sunday evening when I was again home and surrounded by my motley family (dogs and all), we had a visitor who happens to be expecting her seventh child.  She had a moments reprieve from her “little birds” and came over to our house for a visit (because she acquiesced to my daughter’s request, not because she had some free time with nothing to do!);  now as the dinner hour fast approached, the subject of feeding the family was laid out on the table.  And of course with that subject comes much comedy especially when two or more mothers are gathered and interject their own trials in nutritiously satisfying the varying palates of their brood.  So it was with appropriate context that I shared the kitschy plaque about “take it or leave it.”  To which my friend answered, “I don’t want that plaque, I want one that says, Shut the Hell Up!”  Now you have to understand why this is so funny to me…it is because my dear friend, who has six little ones with another gaining speed, is such a loving mother and wife.  Her passion is taking care of her family and loving the great I AM.  So this crass response was just absolutely hysterical (my word choice here is no coincidence for those of you who love language, look up the etymology of hysterical and you will understand its perfect fit), and of course I love her rendition of the plaque much more than the original.

In fact, I have found myself uttering those very words this morning…

I was in the bathroom, having some private time (or so it should have been), the door was closed and the fan was on (now that should be clue enough for everyone to get the gist of what I was doing in the loo) when my husband decided to have a sit down near the door and converse with me about details of, who knows–I can’t remember, all I remember is the subject was not pressing and the details could have, should have, and would have to wait!!  In that moment, just about an hour ago, I found myself thinking the uttering of my friend, “shut the hell up”!  Now I realize it could be argued that a response such as that is warranted given the circumstance of the situation, however, I personally feel that such abrupt and rude language is never the appropriate manner in which to respond; so I didn’t use it…out loud.  But I thought it.

And the fact that I thought it bothers me.  I will tell you why.

There is an old adage that goes something like this:
“Be careful what you think because your thoughts become your words.  Your words become your actions, and your actions become your character.  And character is everything.”  So truth be told, my thought life has been a bit polluted for a while now.  And when considering the truth of the referenced proverb, I am in for some trouble if I don’t let the thought police come and do a bit of housecleaning.  I am in trouble because I don’t like the slippery slope of negativity that the “shut the hell up” response suggests.  No, not the “shut the hell up” said in a humorous context of kitschy plaques and dinnertime, but the “shut the hell up” thought toward my happy go lucky husband who is undeserving of such a response.  Actually, he is undeserving of me nurturing such responses, as is the rest of my family, as are my neighbors, as are the anonymous drivers on the road, as is the community in which I live or travel to, as is my G-d, as is myself.

Granted, my husband sitting outside the bathroom door while I’m taking care of “business” is definitely not a habit I intend to encourage.  But I will employ a gentler attitude when I stand firm upon the platform of “absolutely not.”  And the impetus to my decision is this:  love builds up, it does not tear down.  If I allow “shut the hell up” to fall from my lips upon the ears of any one of my beloveds, then I have failed to express the true essence of love.  So I avow at this moment to climb up the rope of the slippery slope backwards and by doing so redirect the course of my actions.

Thought Police, permission granted to come aboard!

The Little Things

2 Aug

I haven’t had time to write for pleasure this week.  And because I have only a few moments to post something before my eyelids bring my system to a close, and because it will be a few more days before I have the energy-opportunity convergence which will allow me to indulge my cathartic pen, I will share a few tidbits that have been mulling about in the vacant space of my mind (which doesn’t offer much room, though that point my siblings and good friends would argue).:

  • If you clean your ear with a dirty Q-tip, the result can be most alarming!
  • The blog, www.igamemom.com is a valuable “apps” resource.
  • Cleaning up after a dead rodent, in the kitchen, is nauseating.
  • I love my family.
  • Silver hair is beautiful, gray hairs are not.
  • This life is hard, yet full of fun adventures.
  • Math after 3:00p.m. should be against the law.
  • Speaking of law, traffic signals at freeway entrances are for everyone else; not me!
  • I am in love with the moon, with Moliere, with Voltaire; With Rousseau, Ibsen, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle…with sleep.

Goodnight.

P.s. Please check out the blog I mentioned, the information it provides is most valuable (and truly does not deserve to be categorized with the rest of my delirium).

 

 

Not So Common Courtesy

18 Jun

As I was in the middle of preparing tonight’s dinner (or supper, depending on the region you belong to), the phone rang.  The area code was one which I recognized, and which I anticipated a call back from, so I answered the call.  My “hello” was met with a fast paced presentation about solar energy and the “absolutely free cost for installation” provided from the government, should I qualify.  The man on the line then said, “Now I’m going to ask you several questions.  First…”  At that point I went in for the kill!  “I need to stop you right there!  What did you say your name was?  Well Mark, I do believe the appropriate way to proceed, before telling me you are going to ask me questions, is to first ask me if I am interested in being a candidate.”  To which I said, after he asked, “No”.  And he said, “Well … we are supposed to…”no?”…well then goodbye!”  —CLICK—

I’m thinking that Mr. Mark has never had a lesson in courtesy.  At least that is the idea I have decided to land on.  I was honestly ready to give him a good lesson, but he was so confounded by my interruption of his script, or re-direction rather, that his best response was to hang up.  No matter to me.  I was cooking and prepping food which is always nice to do two handed (instead of holding the phone with one hand).

And I would have left the incident there, instead of bringing up here, but the topic of courtesy–or lack thereof–has really been heavy on my mind as of late.  For instance, today when driving up to Long Beach I had the unpleasant experience of having a car speed up upon seeing my indicator light flash, signaling my move to the next lane.  I had, upon depression of the switch, plenty of room to move over until the car sped up with intent to block my indicated lane change.  Now since I couldn’t drag the driver to the side of the road and give him a proper lesson in courtesy, and since I couldn’t legally disable his rear tire by way of assistance from a firearm, I was left with only one choice.  I moved into the lane I had indicated I was going to move into as if the discourtesy of the other driver was in no manner affecting my action.  In other words, I arrogantly moved over into the lane as if to say, “go ahead, hit me–you ass!”  I think my confidence (call it what you will, but I will hang on confidence), stems from driving classic cars…they can withstand a bumping into without sustaining significant damage.  The only problem–I wasn’t driving one of my classics at the time.  I was in a new fan-dangled plastic bumper-ed car.  And though, thankfully, I was not hit nor did I cause an accident of any kind, my action did force the other driver to hit his brakes because I (in a vehicle of course) was now in his face.

I realize that in both of my anecdota one could argue the infraction lies in my response…as I appear to be a little too tightly wound.  To which I concur (to being tightly wound), though I will not accept the title of, discourteous.  Let me explain.

The salesman, Mr. Mark, knowingly cold-called my number at the dinner hour.  Without knowing anything about who he was calling, he brazenly proceeded without gaining the proper introductions and permission to do so.  And truly, had Mark come across with an ounce of consideration, I would have heard him out or suggested a better time to try back.   Had the conversation begun something like, “Good evening.  I am sorry to interrupt your day, but may I have your permission to discuss an exciting opportunity for you to be given solar energy?”, I would have been more receptive to his information…honestly!

And as far as driving…

You can consider me the type of driver who doesn’t believe in speeds less than 65mph.  That is right, Sammy Hagar and his ‘I can’t drive 55’ has nothing on me, cause 65 is my minimum!  But even so, should you activate your indicator light to move over to my lane, I will make way for you.  And though I prefer my way on the road be uninterrupted and in a constant forward motion, I will change my lane or adjust my acceleration, in order to accommodate the understood request presented by either your right or left flasher.

To me, consideration of others is an action we are each obligated to bestow, and an action we are obliged to receive.  And because I do consider others while driving, or calling, or interacting; and also because I am wound super tight…I feel compelled to instruct by passive or not so passive means.  After all, the coined term is “common courtesy”…though today it is appearing to be ‘not so common’.

Oy vay, write about a subject of this kind and watch out! …I am opening myself up to having all of my ‘missteps’ listed out before me.  Bring it on, I say; bring it on.  🙂