Irritating Doofuses

For a few months I have been taking pictures of cars parked erratically, willy-silly around town. Many of these vehicles have been parked in handicapped spots but I use the word 'parked' euphemistically as none of the photos I've taken have been of cars in or near the lines outlining their space parameters.  I have labeled the driver a Doofus, the plural being Doofi...or Doofuses, take your pick. My suggestion, for the DMV, is to incorporate an eye chart with yellow lines and have the wanna-be driver place the car within the lines using the computer mouse, like a video game. My next suggestion would be to simply erase all lines everywhere and let everyone have at it, after all it is a free country...and apparently filled with Doofus Drivers.




My next item on the current list of stuff that irritates me comes out of Washington, D.C. where children in grown-up garb are name-calling and bullying one another daring the other to blink. No party is innocent. Our current events teachers in the schools have had to take a break from instructing students on emulating our elected officials. Parents are attempting to stifle bullying without role models in the very place we all should be able to find them.  If they had parked their cars, they would all be Doofuses.

Next on my list is the 'depressed' lady shot in Washington, D.C. this week by capital police after a chase down Pennsylvania Avenue. Depressed? I read the news, I'm depressed too, but I don't get in my car and take pot shots at neighbors. Doofus.

If you do not follow, on Facebook, Chief David Oliver of the Brimfield (OH) Police Department, you are missing daily doses of wisdom ALA Will Rogers. From the weather report to local drug stops, to high-fiving kindergartners to reading the exploits of the K-9s (Havoc, Joker, Nitro, and Drogen) Brimfield ranks second only to New York City in the number of people who 'Like' them  (from 29 countries) on Facebook. It gives you a personal look at a profession that these officers take very personally. It is only a short mind-hop to realize that your own local law enforcement departments deal with the same stuff every day for one reason, to protect and serve. Unfortunately, most other departments do not have the creative writing ability of Chief Oliver. Jim and I purchased two of the chief's books, No Mopes Allowed, for our two local favorite officers.

It irritates me that you can pick out a parent's child on the soccer field because that child has every bad trait exhibited by the parent. Last night we watched as a student who had been juggled some by an opposing player on the soccer team, lose focus on the game and red-faced seemed determined to strike back...and not necessarily at the goal. The referee cautioned him about his play and encouraged him to take a deep breath and get back into the game. He didn't seem to be able to. This 18-year old has some life lessons to learn. For sure our kids copy what they see. Doofus parents.

Cheers to the veterans who ignored the government shut down that closed their war memorial. This is civil disobedience at its finest. One said he had been shot at all over Europe during the war and he wasn't much afraid of capital park police. For their part, and to their credit, no effort was made to stop these veterans. Doofus government.

I think you are getting the idea that I have little to no tolerance for stupidity. On the flip side, these are my Doofuses. I elected some of them, I live around some of them, and I interact with some of them daily and enough of the time I am probably the Doofus in someone else's life. And so it goes. Like Judy Judy says, "Beauty fades but dumb is forever." I wish Judge Judy would use the proper term, Doofus!

And that's what I think about it.

A Very Nice Gift

A lovely graduation present from my husband found us in London last week.

I am not a good flyer. By that I mean I'm an 'awful-izer' imagining every possible terrorizing situation that could possibly happen in the skies. I'll save you the list but think 9/11.

Although, truth be told, I was not a good flyer decades before.

The flight was short, only eight hours, not like the 13 hour one to Australia that had me pacing the aisles looking for an exit a few years ago.

Planning to read during the trip, I had picked up a John Grisham paperback because it had a really shiny cover. By chapter two it was beginning to sound familiar and by chapter four, I realized I'd already read it but it was either the book or SkyMall and Jim discouraged the latter. My standard operating procedure on a trip is to tear off the chapters as I read them and leave them in the seat pocket thereby alleviating all extra weight in my purse. It's somewhat sad to desecrate a book in this manner and this mayhem is reserved for flights of long duration. Jim read the parts of the book I was discarding. The only downside to this system is that you can't turn back a chapter or two if you missed something or want to check on a character. Those previous chapters could well be on another flight to another continent.

Delta takes good care of their customers. It seemed that every time we turned around, which is a euphemism of course, we were getting food or hot face towels or drinks and snacks. Jim, bless his heart, mentioned...sadly to my ears...that he really was enjoying airplane food. I couldn't even be insulted.

And so began a most memorable week.

And that's what I think about it. 

My Table Diary

On a recent visit from my sister she remarked on how scratched up and marred my dining table was. Never having noticed that before, as I looked closely, I had to agree that the tabletop was not the smooth, shiny surface that it had been a dozen years ago when purchased.

Sitting at the table, running my fingers across the pitted top I remembered how the slow decline of the table top occurred.

-Train track ruts, from a model set that Jim set up one Christmas to the delight of the grand children

-Scissor marks from little hands learning to cut

-Veneer chipped off where glue was left to dry and then scrapped off with a fingernail or blunt knife.

-Coffee and cocoa mug circles where long talks resulted in solutions to life's' problems.

-Inch-long marks where reports were collated and stapled together.

-Scuff marks from plastic bins of research, books and journals being pulled across the surface in order to find the correct citation for a doctoral project. 

-Memories of grand daughters creating memory books as high school seniors, spending hours upon hours, days upon days, writing, cutting, remembering, and gluing. 

-Memories of family celebrations filled with laughter and story-telling, events that even when repeated repeatedly never ceased to amuse as details are remembered and/or enhanced.

-Scrapes from heavy glassware being shifted from place to place to form the perfect mock-up for a candy buffet at a grand daughter's wedding.

Six chairs are covered in white and raspberry upholstery material, purchased down the street at a yard sale for five dollars and self-installed.A black dot on the white part of one chair brings memories of a Sharpie that got away from little hands.

People use the expression, "If these walls could talk?" In my case I would say, "If this table could talk?"

Replacing the table and chairs has crossed my mind in the past few years, more tired of the style than anything else. But now, after moseying down memory lane, I might have a difficult time parting with this fifty pound diary.

And that's what I think about it.

"If you find yourself a widow..."

At a national convention this week, I ran into a class mate from the seminary from which we had both recently graduated.

He was with a friend, his best friend from childhood.

Mike, the friend, is a minister, and single. I had never met him thus the requisite introductions to my husband who was with me.

Singleness became the subject of our conversation after the talk of graduation and post-grad possibilities had run its course. The four of us stood around laughing uproariously at Mike's trials during his life at attempting to find himself a wife.

I mentioned that I had an unmarried daughter which peaked his interest. His energy toward this conversation led me to ask how old he was. Too young for my daughter I said. Maybe not, he countered, he was fast running out of possibilities in his own age bracket.

This kind of back and forth went on with peals of laughter all around and my wondering what's wrong with him that this seemingly delightful young man couldn't find a spouse.

As they were leaving and the echo of their laughter was fading away he turned around and gestured to me, remarking, "If you ever find yourself a widow, give me a call."

We all doubled over in laughter...well, three of us did. My husband, standing next to me, failed to find humor in his remark and shouted back, "I'm feeling good right now."