the driving experience

I have noticed a new experience while driving. It may be that it was in existence for a while, but I have seen it more and more lately and its sort of disturbing. It goes like this: you are in a line of traffic that just made it through a light, so everyone is feeling pretty good about themselves. There's probably about 10 to 15 cars who are tooling down the road, when a gap develops between say the third and six cars. It's a wide enough gap that if someone was going to enter the traffic, they could do it, but they would have to gun it to make sure the next guy didn't try to speed up to close the gap. What happens though is this--a car approaching a stop sign from a side street, see the gap and decides, oh, hell why stop? and cruises right into the gap of traffic without missing a beat (or creating an accident). Technically speaking the driver hasn't hurt anyone. They have essentially merged into ongoing traffic. But the stop sign is there for a reason, isn't it? They totally ignore the stop and keep cruising. The one time I saw someone do this, I was sure they didn't even ponder the traffic coming their way in the lane closest to them, they just saw that gap and went for it! I don't know why this disturbs me so much, but it does. I feel like it's going to end badly for someone and I'm hoping that someone isn't me. Part of me wishes I could have flashing lights attached to the car so that when someone does do this, I could scare them enough that they wouldn't do it again. But really, is it possible to scare people that badly? I mean how many drive while talking on the phone or texting. No one is that scared anymore. Fear factor alone keeps me from doing stupid stuff. But that doesn't seem to be a deterrent any more...whine, whine, whine. I'm getting old and I hear myself. Ewww.

how did we ever get along?

It became apparent two days ago that the microwave was broken. It doesn't heat. The light goes on, the turntable goes 'round, but the heat ain't there (does this sound like anyone you know?). Anyway, there are several points to make about this particular piece of machinery.

We installed this one ourselves. Well, sort of. When our daughter was still in residence after college she had a bunch of friends come over frequently and the gender of the friends were male. They would yuck it up on the porch watching TV, trading work stories and getting increasingly louder as the evening wore on. My husband, never one to ignore a gift horse (or a room full of young males who could probably lift more than he alone) enlisted their help in getting the microwave in place. I should point out that this is a "range top model" which means it is anchored above the top of the stove and has a vent fan attached. It was a heavy son-of-a-gun and I knew I wasn't going to lift it. So he and the "boys" got the thing in place and he secured it. It was hilarious and interesting to watch their interactions as they worked together. If we have to get rid of the thing now that it isn't working, I will be sorry to part with the memories.

The second thing occurred to me quite by surprise. I haven't cooked vegetables on the top of a stove for a very long time. How long you may ask? I really can't remember. In our first home we had a microwave. This is where I learned how to cook, mixing this and that, timing this and that. And the humming, ding of the microwave was the barometer of finished vegetables. I got out a pack of frozen corn last night and had to read the directions for how to cook on the top of the stove! Of course, I had to find my glasses first, then write down the salient points because the sieve-like appendage of a brain I have doesn't retain anything for two minutes. I had to find a pen that would write. I had to find a piece of paper that didn't have anything already written on it. I had to put the corn back in the freezer while I searched for all these things. What an ordeal! By the time I figured everything out, it was about 20 minutes later. No wonder the microwave is a time saving device. It probably doesn't cook anything any faster, but you don't have to go through all this crap to just cook stuff.

So a repair man or perhaps woman will come out Wednesday to either fix it or tell us to get a new one. My husband says that we can get a small counter top model for a relatively cheap price. But the monster above the stove-top cooks things so much faster than one of the little models. We have to decide what we want to do. I'm looking to get a new one, personally. Maybe one that will install itself. But I'm not that hopeful. I'll let you know what happens. Just listen for the ding.

The mail as a microcism: Discuss

When I get home from work, especially in the months of November and December I let out the cat and try to grab all the mail from the little red mailbox attached to the wall next to the front door. I say try to grab because during these months the mail box is stuffed with catalogs, flyers, junk mail and more catalogs. 'Tis the season you know. All this stuff. Who buys all this stuff? From weird little photo holders to Hans Solo in Carbonite as a desk. I really can't imagine who buys this stuff. The Sharper Image is always entertaining, but the Orvis catalog? Not so much. The really amusing thing, though is how my husband plunks them on the table to peruse after dinner. He excitedly points out the more bizarre and outlandish items, trying to goad me into either thinking he really is excited about the items or that this is something that we really can't do without. This never really works, but I give him points for sincerity.

There are people who buy this stuff, right? I mean they don't just make these catalogs to peruse. People with money to burn (who are they?) must sometimes purchase stuff out of there, right? I just don't know anybody that does.

Now I'm not talking about the "mainstream" catalogs, like L.L. Bean or even the Current Catalog which has stationery and stamps and even checkbooks for crying out loud. These are what I would call normal things. No, the over-the-top catalogs are the ones I'm talking about. They're entertaining, sure, but really besides Donald Trump, who has the money for this stuff?

Maybe someday when I win the lottery and don't know what to do with all my millions, I'll consent to buy my son that Hans Solo desk, but maybe I'll invest instead in a new larger mailbox and keep myself entertained for the rest of the holiday season.

Gifts

Every once in a while someone gets it right. I don't get another candle, or trinket for the china cabinet. Every now and then I get--tickets to a show. I wanted to see White Christmas last year in the worst way. But it just didn't work out. I love the movie, but the stage show added some Irving Berlin to jazz it up and well, I just love Irving Berlin anything. My husband bought us tickets to see it. For this year. Right after Thanksgiving. He knows I'll be sad this year. The youngest won't be home for either Thanksgiving or Christmas since he's working retail this year. And I get teary eyed just thinking about it. So I got this great gift. It will be just the thing.

But really the best gift was my husband. The man upstairs sleeping right now. He was sort of grouchy when he went to bed. He's tired. He went for a HUGE bike ride with his brother today and he's very tired. But even though he's tired and a little grumpy, he's still the best thing that ever happened to me. He shows me that I'm lovable. He shows me that there are worst things in life than a bad day. He stands with me in our sorrow and grief and mourning over the children moving on, even though that's what they're supposed to do. He likes my cooking--can't figure that out--I'm mediocre at best. He laughs at the same things I do (mostly) and understands those things that made me mad, even though they don't make him mad. He does not show physical affection in public, but once in a while, if I take his hand, he'll squeeze it just to prove he could do it if he wanted to--he just doesn't want to. I'm a better grown-up with him than without him. I'm a better person with him than without him. Yup, he's the best thing I ever got. Thank the good Lord.

When the whole wide world is fast asleep

I used to wonder what it would be like to wander around during the night. I mean I'm basically a chicken, so going for a walk in the dark is not something I do on purpose. When I have to go out to close the garage doors after dark, I find myself hurrying. I live in suburbia for heaven's sake. What's going to get me? But I still think about it every now and then, walking around in the dark. What would it be like to not be afraid or to be so used to it that it didn't bother me any more. What kinds of people are comfortable in the dark? Policemen have to be I guess. And nightwatchmen. Security guards. People who stock shelves in stores are used to it I suppose. If you had to take a walk around your neighborhood in the dark, late at night, would you get freaked out? Some neighborhoods would--Camden for instance. Or some of those small little towns in the middle of the Pines. With the dogs barking in the distance and the rustling of leaves and twigs breaking (the Jersey Devil is out there, I just know it!) I'm going to do it, one night, I think. I'll take my husband along for protection. And a big honking flashlight that will last for a bazillion hours. Maybe over Christmas break. You know look at the decorations, get frostbite, who knows maybe meet a Hadrosaurus in the bargain. You never know what you'll see or hear. But I'll have to work up to it. Maybe next year.

In The Wee Small Hours

I love the above song for so many reasons. But I'm quoting tonight on it because I got to thinking about those hours in the night. The ones where you wake up after being asleep for a short amount of time and you cannot turn off the synapses for whatever reason and you find yourself staring at the tv or computer screen for hours on end without feeling the least bit sleepy. Or the evenings when you know you should be getting sleepy, tired, whatever you want to call it and well, you just aren't. You pick up a book that in the past has put you to sleep within an hour and suddenly it seems pretty interesting. You try playing countless games of computer solitaire and since you're winning so handily so frequently, you suddenly don't feel like stopping. The funny thing is, you know you'll pay for this in the morning. Monday morning rolls around and you're functioning on 2 hours of sleep and you know by noon you're gonna be mush. But you just can't stop, you just can't relax, you just can't stop thinking.

In the middle of the night is when I find I miss people the most. I used to ache for my dad in the middle of the night. I miss my kids then and my brothers. I see my sister with some regularity, so I don't find I miss her much--is that bad? I even dredge up folks that I haven't seen for umpty ump years, wondering where they are, what they are doing and do they ever think of me? And if they do, is it good?

The problem with those wee small hours is you pack a lot of what-ifs, do-overs, and I-can't-believe-I-said/did/thought that. It's not usually good reflections in the middle of the night. It's usually, for me anyway, regrets and remorse. I'm whining aren't I? Well, it is after all, the middle of the night. And no one is up to hear me.