For better or worse, this writer tends to let words escape her lips, words that are unexpected, and sometimes embarrassing. Come to think of it; her joie de vivre spirit contributed to her atrocious handwriting.
While attending parochial elementary school, the girl had little concept of self-censure. She spoke before thinking. What she thought was funny never seemed to reach the ears of the nuns in the same spirit she intended. Perhaps living with a houseful of women with no way to vent does that. In other words, the nuns had no sense of humor.
Consequently, the punishment was to write 3000 times “I will not…” Same sentence with a slight variation. After several episodes of “I will not (insert the offense for the day),” the girl’s handwriting evolved into an illegible scrawl that would do a doctor proud. In fact, she could have taught Crappy Handwriting 101 to medical and legal students in her sleep.
Consequently, she accepted her penmanship failings and rarely writes letters. Thank goodness for email and text messages. The only problem sending a text is her insistence on writing complete sentences. Typing with one finger is very slow going, but her thumbs become dislocated when she tries to type with them.
Speaking of email, have you sent emails or left a voicemail for co-workers and they never, or rarely, respond? What is the point of those conveniences when people ignore them? Never fear, there is a solution. Get up from your desk and stroll over to the command center of the person with whom you need to communicate. When you stand in front of someone, it is impossible for them to ignore you. At least, one can only hope they have better manners than to ignore someone. Besides, patience was never a virtue this lady liked to practice.
In case you were in doubt, this writer’s reputation for being an over the top neatnik is well earned.
Company was coming. We mowed the lawn. The problem was the weeds kept popping up. But, dandelions did not fit into the desired tidy lawn image. Consequently, hours before our guest’s car drove up the driveway, the lady of the manor ran around plucking the unsightly weeds. It was a small blessing she was not caught performing such a ludicrous task.
A week later, the dandelion population had multiplied dramatically. Plucking the bothersome weeds by hand was no longer an option. As the lady of the manor rushed to the storage shed and climbed in the riding mower’s seat, Hubby asked what she was doing.
“I’m going to mow.”
“The lawn looks messy,” she replied before revving the motor and racing off to attack the flagrant and wanton display of weed growth.
Unfortunately, short of conjuring up desert conditions, weed growth cannot be stopped in the lawn or the flower beds. If we want a tidy lawn and flower beds, we enter into willing servitude to battling nature. This lady suffers from a sad malady without a cure.
Then there is the issue of guard dogs.
When one lives in the country, dogs become more than family pets. Dogs are deterrents to those who harbor malicious intent. In the past, if a strange car entered our driveway, our dogs would rise and walked down to meet the intruder. Many a car has backed up and driven away because of the dogs’ protective behavior.
Since Hubby and I worked and our neighbor did not the fickle hounds spent a great deal of time with the readily available human. While we were gone, this human played with our pets and quasi-guards to the point that he renamed them and bought them new collars.
Now those hussy hounds only show up to eat.
Perhaps we need the services of a good lawyer. Do you suppose we could sue the neighbor for alienating the affections of our dogs?
The lady of the manor told Hubby she wants a guard dragon. To which he replied, “If dragons existed, I would get you a guard dragon. But I’m not Harry Potter and can’t conjure up a mythical creature.
Elizabeth Cowan loves to hear from her readers.