When I am stressed
it helps me cope,
When I am sad
it lessens the mope,
When I'm at work
I'm not such a dope,
Wherever there's tea
there is hope.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Moral Dilemma
Last Saturday night I stopped at a strip mall with my daughter. As we were leaving and I was backing out of my parking space, I backed right into a truck. A big white pickup truck with a cap. Not hard to see. Especially with my car's top down. I don't know what happened. Hard to admit being careless. And stupid.
Anyway - I pull back into a parking space and my daughter and I get out to check the damage. I feel a little sick. But nothing is really wrong with my car - a couple scuff marks, no dent. All right! What a relief! We go to inspect the truck. No problem there either - I'm off scott free! - but wait, what's this? Ack! A small crease in the shiny metal bumper!
Could I have caused that crease? I was doing practically zero miles an hour! My car isn't dented, and that's a big old truck! I couldn't have caused that crease.
Could I?
What to do. Leave a note or not leave a note. Leaving one feels like the right thing to do. But what if I didn't cause the damage? What if Mr. Truck Driver is an immoral money-grubbing opportunist and tries to stick it to me and my insurance company? What if leaving a note makes me a STUPID, NAIVE FOOL?
I'm way more stressed out at this point than I have any reason to be. I debate it with my daughter. I call my son. He is rational. He says if I drive away I won't go to hell, BUT: the right thing to do is leave a note. I know that, but it sucks. My son says that's how I know it's right. Because it sucks.
I leave a note with my cell phone number under a windshield wiper. I apologize. I say I didn't think I caused any damage, but wanted to let Mr. Truck Driver check for himself. Then I go home and wait. I turn the sound off on my phone and check it periodically. I want Mr. Truck Driver to have to leave a message. I'm sure that's what the savvy truck hitters do.
No call Saturday night. No call Sunday. No call, in fact, so far.
So what's the moral of the story? I'm not sure. It could be that the note blew off or Mr. Truck Driver thought it was an ad or something and never read it.
Or, it could be that Mr. Truck Driver saw the note, checked the bumper, knew the crease had already been there and threw the note away. I like that option. Kind of restores my faith in humanity. And makes the whole situation suck a little less.
Anyway - I pull back into a parking space and my daughter and I get out to check the damage. I feel a little sick. But nothing is really wrong with my car - a couple scuff marks, no dent. All right! What a relief! We go to inspect the truck. No problem there either - I'm off scott free! - but wait, what's this? Ack! A small crease in the shiny metal bumper!
Could I have caused that crease? I was doing practically zero miles an hour! My car isn't dented, and that's a big old truck! I couldn't have caused that crease.
Could I?
What to do. Leave a note or not leave a note. Leaving one feels like the right thing to do. But what if I didn't cause the damage? What if Mr. Truck Driver is an immoral money-grubbing opportunist and tries to stick it to me and my insurance company? What if leaving a note makes me a STUPID, NAIVE FOOL?
I'm way more stressed out at this point than I have any reason to be. I debate it with my daughter. I call my son. He is rational. He says if I drive away I won't go to hell, BUT: the right thing to do is leave a note. I know that, but it sucks. My son says that's how I know it's right. Because it sucks.
I leave a note with my cell phone number under a windshield wiper. I apologize. I say I didn't think I caused any damage, but wanted to let Mr. Truck Driver check for himself. Then I go home and wait. I turn the sound off on my phone and check it periodically. I want Mr. Truck Driver to have to leave a message. I'm sure that's what the savvy truck hitters do.
No call Saturday night. No call Sunday. No call, in fact, so far.
So what's the moral of the story? I'm not sure. It could be that the note blew off or Mr. Truck Driver thought it was an ad or something and never read it.
Or, it could be that Mr. Truck Driver saw the note, checked the bumper, knew the crease had already been there and threw the note away. I like that option. Kind of restores my faith in humanity. And makes the whole situation suck a little less.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
I Fought the Beach and the Beach Won
On holiday at the beach in North Carolina.
I'm in the ocean with a group of friends. I see a wave coming and know it's going to break nearby. I brace myself; it still knocks me right to my knees. On your knees amid breaking waves is not a comfortable place to be. It's safe, because it's shallow and I can swim, but water and sand churn all around - the earth literally washes from under me. My friend offers his hand to help. My hand, however, is slick with sunscreen. I'm almost to my feet and - bam! - on my ass in the same churning sea. I've never had so much sand and salt inside my suit, let alone in all the nooks and crannies of my muffins.
Evening of the same day. My friend, her daughter and I decide to go to the beach after dark. The house we have rented is separated from the ocean by a dune, with weather-worn steps on each side. On the ocean side, however, many of the steps have been reclaimed by sand. So when you're going to the beach you finish the last eight feet or so down a steep slope of soft sand. You climb the same when you return.
The three of us get to the beach and it is truly DARK. We are armed with two small flashlights and a glowstick, but still the way is not well lit. We decide to curtail our walk. We return to the base of the dune. (Did I mention it was dark?) I start to climb the soft sand and fall right to my knees. This time my friend's daughter extends a hand. I'm almost on my feet and - bam! - on my ass in the sand dune. This time with enough momentum that I literally roll down the dune. That's right. Roll back down the dune to the beach. Lots of sand. Lots of nooks and crannies.
I do finally make it to the safety of our house. The bad news is, I am a little stiff and sore the next morning. Apparently I can't fall four times in one day without some sort of physical repercussions. The good news is, I fully expect a nook or cranny to yield a pearl one day.
I'm in the ocean with a group of friends. I see a wave coming and know it's going to break nearby. I brace myself; it still knocks me right to my knees. On your knees amid breaking waves is not a comfortable place to be. It's safe, because it's shallow and I can swim, but water and sand churn all around - the earth literally washes from under me. My friend offers his hand to help. My hand, however, is slick with sunscreen. I'm almost to my feet and - bam! - on my ass in the same churning sea. I've never had so much sand and salt inside my suit, let alone in all the nooks and crannies of my muffins.
Evening of the same day. My friend, her daughter and I decide to go to the beach after dark. The house we have rented is separated from the ocean by a dune, with weather-worn steps on each side. On the ocean side, however, many of the steps have been reclaimed by sand. So when you're going to the beach you finish the last eight feet or so down a steep slope of soft sand. You climb the same when you return.
The three of us get to the beach and it is truly DARK. We are armed with two small flashlights and a glowstick, but still the way is not well lit. We decide to curtail our walk. We return to the base of the dune. (Did I mention it was dark?) I start to climb the soft sand and fall right to my knees. This time my friend's daughter extends a hand. I'm almost on my feet and - bam! - on my ass in the sand dune. This time with enough momentum that I literally roll down the dune. That's right. Roll back down the dune to the beach. Lots of sand. Lots of nooks and crannies.
I do finally make it to the safety of our house. The bad news is, I am a little stiff and sore the next morning. Apparently I can't fall four times in one day without some sort of physical repercussions. The good news is, I fully expect a nook or cranny to yield a pearl one day.
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