What a whirlwind it has been, dear reader, this last few weeks. There seems to be no end in sight as things just keep getting more hectic. It's a good kind of hectic, so in this there is no complaint. Just simply conveying the reason I haven't found the time to check in and say, "hello."
Herein however are some ruminations I have plucked out of the air in the interval; and since I have not the time to formulate anything truly worthwhile to write about, I shall simply go with these.
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There is nothing so ferocious as a "soccer mom"
We went to go see a former student play college soccer for Kalamazoo College over the weekend. What an exciting game! I had a hard time enjoying myself for some of it, as the two moms sitting behind and to my left were the Statler and Waldorf of the collegiate soccer world. Statler and Waldorf for those of you who don't remember, are the two smart-ass Muppets from the eponymous show. My favorite Muppets by far.
But I wasn't watching The Muppet Show, I was watching soccer... or trying to anyway. All that is ugly in men, (the shouting and carrying on from the sidelines), is even uglier coming from the fairer sex. It was, in a word, annoying and not a little off-putting.
Nobody could do anything right. "I'm sick of coming to these games just to watch them lose," said one to the other.
"We have a coaching problem," said the other back to the one.
And off they went making assumptions regarding the coach's ability to play the game at all, let alone coach it.
They, of course had only but one recourse, which was to coach from the stands themselves, because that is always the right tack. I am sure the girls whose mothers these were are very proud. I know I would be.
Meanwhile, we were sitting with the father of the girl who we went to see. He sat quietly and made good observations and explained some things to me about how the team is coalescing and such. He was an AYSO coach for many years. Clearly, if anyone had the right to yell, it would be him.
Instead he chose comportment. A lesson for us all.
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The Knowing Nod
I have identified the knowing nod. This is a phenomenon when in public, you and a stranger, exchange some sort of meaningful glance and give a little mutual nod as if to say, I feel you, buddy. Sometimes, if there is someone being loud or difficult, the knowing nod could be the knowing eye roll, or what have you.
Yesterday, the gas station was extremely busy in the morning. All the pumps at the big station were being used. I got out of my car as did the man next to me. Both in shirts and ties, both with little notebooks logging our mileage and the gallons of gas going into the tank. It was clear he, as I was going on a little road trip for the company.
We exchanged the knowing nod. Much was said and much camaraderie shared in that nod.
It was the nod that said, "Man, I hope people aren't idiots on the road today," or, "I have to go Eau Clare... My mother would be so proud."
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Eau No!
Speaking of Eau Clare, Michigan. Oofda. Not a pretty place. I presently sit in the burgh of Dowagiac, just outside the village of Eau Clare, which has a problem with branding. "The Village of Eau Clare" sounds so inviting, so picturesque.
No. No, it's not. A more apt moniker would be "Shitbox Speedbump", or "Don't Make Eye Contact," Michigan.
I thought it might be nice to take in a quick lunch at "The Village Inn", or "O'leary's". Some of the best meals I have eaten have been in quiet little places in quiet little towns. But something about "The Village Inn" made me think it looked like you had better be from the village if you dared step foot in there, and O'Leary's was O'closed. Not, closed for the day, or closed on Wednesday. Closed, closed. Brown paper in the windows closed.
So, McDonalds of Dowagiac it is. They have free wifi, to say noting of the local color, (which is white if you were wondering). I am sitting here in near hysterics. As I sit here looking busy, I am dividing my attention between you and the local "farm report," which consists of three old men holding court and talking to everyone who comes in. It's like a rural version of a talk show.
They are so sweet and nice to everyone and as soon as they leave, the old rumor mill cranks up.
"I hear she's been cavertn' wit ol' Hal..."
"'S'plains why my mail sometimes doesn't come 'til after dark and other days it comes at 1:30."
"D,ya hear about that accident over on 140?"
"Naw, I live off 51."
"Right. Lots of blacks over there by 51."
"Yep."
This week I have therefore seen women carry on like men at a sporting event, and old men clucking like hens at McDonald's. Call Rod Serling, I am living in an episode of his television show.
And why do people from this part of Michigan sound like they rolled here straight from the top of a hill in Tennessee yesterday? Like they were at the ol' homestead, slipped on a rock and this is where they stopped. They just picked up, dusted themselves off and started right in as though they'd always been here.
I would be concerned about one of them reading over my shoulder and seeing my writing about them, but based on my assessment of their literacy, that is as likely as a cat learning to cut hair.
No kidding, "Junior" just left. His name was Junior. He has to be a gazillion years old. I'd hate to see "Senior".
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Full Moon Fever
Full Moon Fever is the name of a great Tom Petty album, but for the purposes of this Grandiose Rumination, it is the moniker for people acting crazy and/or stupid during the full phase of the moon.
This most recent full moon being the harvest moon, it was a mean of 5000 Km closer to earth than normal. I don't know if this is the "fullest" of the full moons, but it is surely a "big" full moon. And it seemed to affect people even more than normal.
Driving has been especially dicey. As you all are well aware, (through my unceasing belly-aching), I drive a lot. I drive more than you and you and you combined. Not you, Todd. But everyone else.
I will blame it on the moon, for the only other place to put the blame would be on the failure of humanity itself, but people have been really and truly dangerously bad and inattentive drivers over the last few weeks.
I have seen it all and while I could sit and suss out specific circumstances for you in a humorous and fun way, I have not the time nor the energy to relive some of the trauma I have endured over the last few trips.
I therefore salute your passing, Waxing Gibbous moon, and welcome the Waning Gibbous and its friend the Waning Crescent moons. I hope this sets things back to normal. Whatever that is.
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