Your Mother Taught You Better

Some people do things that are just annoying to the point of rudeness.

Early Saturday morning, I was at the supermarket. I make a list of things to buy to make it quicker for me to get out and to the many other things on my busy schedule.

I am almost done, in the last aisle. Someone was so gracious by leaving his carriage right in the middle of the aisle so not to let others by.

"Be patient" I told myself. I did just that. For a total of five minutes. So I took the liberty of moving it to one side to allow people to pass through.

The young man whose carriage I moved didn't appreciate that. he was downright rude to the point of high offense.

But I held my temper in check. It wasn't easy.

I get what I needed and get in line at the checkout. The lady in front of me puts all her stuff on the belt ,and of course, she forgot something. She held the line up for about ten minutes.

I thinking about how bad this day has started.

While I wait, there was lady behind me who had three young boys. One these boys was pushing the carriage back and forth, though told several times from his mom to stop.

He stopped alright. After he hit me in the back of the legs. And no apology was forthcoming.

After I finally get out of the store, taking several deep breaths to keep me calm, another young man is outside panhandling. He was polite when he made the request of me. and I told him politely no. That is when he said something under his breath. I said something in the attune of getting off his lazy ass and work. I didn't think he liked that.

I get home and bring the stuff inside. I then decide to go get some coffee. Arriving there, I see a elderly man with a walker struggle to get the door open.

"Let me get that for you sir" I said while I open the door. Several people actually when inside ahead of him, not allowing him to pass.

I mean, does anyone have manners anymore?

We live a fast world. It seems that people are either oblivious to how their behavior affects others, or they just don't care.

A simple "thank you" goes a long way, you know. And whatever happened to responding to that gratuitous saying with a simple "you're welcome" and not with "no problem"?

No one says "good morning". Or they respond to it with "is it'? Are you that grumpy?

Do you have to ripe your hands on your shirt? Or even worse: lick them.
Try using a napkin.

And for crying out loud, wash your hands when you use the rest room.

And please excuse yourself when you interrupt me while I am speaking. Better yet, wait until I am done. Is what your going to say that important?

Maybe I am just too sensitive, but why is it people don't think that have to practice reasonable good manners? Is it that they are not taught?

I guess maybe I have an antiquated way I look at things. But I know I was taught better than that, and I know they were too.

Any thoughts?

A Writer's Bloc

Good morning.  It's Monday again.  Don't you love Monday mornings?  You know, a reminder how short you weekend seemed to be and how long your week is going to be?

Seriously, though.  I figured I just write a little blog about bloc.  As in writer's bloc. The disability of a writer to produce new work.  Which is, for me, usually lasts a few days.  Though on occasion, it has lasted several months.

Insomnia

Insomnia is a gross feeder. It will nourish itself on any kind of thinking, including thinking about not thinking.  - Clifton  "Kip"  Fadiman.


I can certainly relate .  As I write this,  I am in a state of a continuous fatigue, caused by my own anxiety, and expeditiously, by severe insomnia.

Insomnia is a strange creature because it has no discernible pattern.  One might suffer from it for days, even weeks,  sometimes with no feasible cause.  Then it just suddenly disappears, and it has no timetable when, and if, it will return.

For me, it has substantially to do with the fact that my mind is forever moving.  Each individual thought process is it's own highway.  Some are racing like a drive on the Autobahn, fast and free. Then there are the ones that end up like a traffic jam of the Santa Monica Freeway during rush hour.  There are more of the latter then of the former.

Hey, Coach! (Part 2 of 2)

Continued from an earlier blog.

I had blacked out after the collision at home plate. I woke up in my stepfather's car, sprawled across the back seat on my back. I was nauseous from the pain, and being unusual for me, the motion of the vehicle. It took all of my willpower not to vomit. I noticed my throbbing wrist was wrapped in gauze holding an ice pack in the back, splints on each side, A sling was tied at my shoulder holding my arm up so I couldn't bend my elbow.

My stepfather related the news about what happened after I lost consciousness.  The good news, the catcher dropped the ball, and apparently I somehow touched the plate with my injured hand. The bad news was the doctor who looked at my wrist the first time believed I tore some ligaments. This could be mean possible surgery for me.

I walked unaided into the ER of the hospital.  My stepfather and I sat at the registration desk. My mind was racing with thoughts that were for the most part were unpleasant. How bad was it? Will I play baseball again?  And if I could, how good will I be at it?  It is possible I may lose functionality in my hand where I can't grip anything properly?

My mom arrived. She was calm and collected as always. She sat next to me in the common area. She told me everything was going to be alright, and as always, I believed her. She brought me books to read instead of the magazines spewed everywhere, some so old they predated my birth.

Later, which seemed like eternity,  I was called into the ER. I had had an x-ray of the injured area. As I sat in my little cubicle, I saw a couple of doctors talking over the negative of my wrist through the opening of the curtain that was not completely closed. I was not feeling the pain as intensely as before. It was more of a dull ache, the wonderful medication the nurse gave me helped immensely.

Still I waited longer. My anxiety grew in intensity, despite the drugs in my system. I wanted to leave, and I was ready to run out the hospital to escape the incredible foreboding this place was instilling upon me. I got up from the bed I was sitting on, walked over to the curtain, and as I reached for it with my good hand, it suddenly burst open.

I jumped a bit, being startled from the ER doctor coming in with my parents.  Doc gently told me to sit back onto the bed. I did so, now knowing his professional judgement was now forthcoming.

The good news, nothing was broken. However, I had a third degree sprain.  The healing process and rehabilitation time for this type of injury could be up to three months.

My heart sank. My baseball season was over.

Over the next several days, a deep depression fell over me. I didn't really do much of anything. School, meals, and bed. That was it. I turned over the paper route I had over to my friend because I couldn't ride my bike, something I essentially needed to be able to do the route properly.

On the positive side, I wasn't the only person in my family that played baseball that spring. My little sister was playing with a Minor Little League which was only a 5 minute walk from our house.  Her and I would work on drills together in the back yard when neither of us had practice or a game.  Most of the time, we had conflicting schedules, so I was unable to get to see her play in an actual game.

My missing her games was about change, albeit, reluctantly.

It was 8 days after my injury.  It was on a Thursday,  I remember that because I was watching the sitcom "Cheers". (Ironically, I have a story about an experience from that show I will post another time.) My mom knocks on my bedroom door,  and after a moment enters.

We discussed how my wrist felt. We also talked about my mental well being. She spoke about baseball, which she knew little about except the fact I ate, slept, and breathed it. This segued into a problem she needed my help to solve.

The problem was my sister had a game Friday afternoon and my mom had to work later than her normal shift.  So, my stepdad, who would be home in time, could take her. That would leave me to watch my little brothers because they can't stay still during the game. (Most of  the parents of the players attended their kids game back then.).

So, I had this conundrum before me.  Do I take my sister to the her game and watch other kids play baseball, something I loved with a passion but I could no longer participate.  Or, do I stay home, babysit my brothers,  who like to annoy me, and risk doing something I would regret because of my present state of mind?

I decided on the former after much anguish.

Hey, Coach! (Part 1 of 2)

I would definitely be considered a geek from the activities and hobbies I had since childhood.

However, I also had a long time love affair with athletics, and I was a decent practitioner. I had played just about all of them, but one in particular became my main squeeze and remains so to this day, as both a former player and now coach.

Baseball, America's pastime.

A Year In Preview

Happy New Year to you all. 

2012 is going to a historical year. There will be some events that will happen that will surprise, even shock some people.


I figure, just for fun, that I play prognosticator. Here are few things I think will happen in the next 12 months or so.