Hey, gang-
I’m making a fresh pot; what I had sat there long enough to become intolerable for coffee: tepid. Got busy doing chores and actually did the unthinkable: I–(blush) . . . I let the coffee get cold. I know. Hard to feature.
Ah. Here we go . . .
They were driving leisurely through a residential area of town, windows down, enjoying the dappled shadows of Spring’s teasing sun. Suddenly he did something that, for him, was alarmingly uncharacteristic. He leaned out the window and yelled,
“JERK! MORON!”
Horror-struck at this unlikely public display of aggression – and subtly trying to scan their surroundings to find the cause – she leveled one of ‘those’ gazes at him.
“What—- just happened? Who were you talking to, and why?”
With eyelids at half-mast and in disarming innocence he shrugged lightly and said, “Sign.”
“What? Which sign? What are you talking about?” Sounds a lot more innocuous than it really was. The accompanying look, complete with Spock’s cocked eyebrow, conveyed the unpleasant tidings that a therapist friend or two would be receiving calls. Dinner might be considerably less pleasant.
He said nothing, a serene and peaceful expression on his face. He simply turned, then turned, then turned, and then once again, backtracking where they’d just driven. Soon he glanced over at her, still very much at peace with himself, and pointed.
“Sign.”
Exasperated, she huffed and then her eyes followed the invisible line from his fingertip to where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a big, yellow diamond-shaped sign.
He thought she showed remarkable restraint, although her eyes kind of squoze with that lasered focus those Cylons used to have just before blasting their targets into atomic dust. What I mean is the look he got could have stripped old floor wax.
“Only you. . .”
“I’m truly wounded, here. I’m supposed to just take that? What kind of husband and father am I if I let THE CITY leave signs all over town deriding me and calling me names? I ask you: what will the kids think?”
Pressure valve. No longer workee.
“THEY DO IT, TOO! YOU’VE MANAGED TO SIRE YET ANOTHER GENERATION OF TRULY WEIRD PEEPUL!!!” He thought it best to just keep quiet about the misspelling, since it sounded the same, anyway. Besides, her scathing delivery did not comport with interruptions, albeit percipient ones.
Things would have still probably been okay if she hadn’t seen his fleeting self-satisfied expression before he realized she was still watching. He’s tough, though. Those bruises will soon fade. He’ll have full use of that arm back in no time.
I really don’t want to keep you in suspenders. That interplay took place ‘tween me and Babycakes. We do have fun together, and after 38 years we’re still best buds, too. Now, wait–don’t get crazy on me. She still thinks I’m hopeless, although I’m still hopelessly ga-ga over herself. What? Got a problem with “ga-ga”?
Ever seriously dealt with the thought that there’s a DIP in the road?
I have. Guess what?
It’s me.
After having a lot of fun and goofing off, I calmed down a bit and gave the matter some thought. On those occasions when there’s a DIP in my road, it’s usually turned out to be me.
Mm-hmm. “DIPs-R-Me”. I’m usually the most serious impediment I have. My ideas, my attitudes, my preconceptions, my fears, my thinking patterns. I don’t like to admit it, but I’m the biggest DIP in my road. So-o-o… I need to undip my thinking.
Dedip my attitudes.
Antidip my fears.
Do that and PRESTO! the road ahead just, ah, contradips.
Now, this week’s challenge isn’t terribly profound unless your DIPs are deep. If you have deep dips then it might take a little more to undip the road ahead of you. It’s worth it, though. Friend, life’s dippy enough without adding your own.
Perhaps your town has nothing better to do than call you impudent names, too. Well, every time you see one of ‘those’ signs, let it remind you to knock off being the biggest DIP in the road ahead.
Examine your thinking, your fears, attitudes and favorite ideas. And if the sign’s right, do something about it.
Then you, too, can lean out and cheerfully hurl rude names into the Spring air. . .
Um–just be sure there’s not a nice police officer sitting within earshot. Bad juju. Seriously dinged karmic convergence. What I’m trying to say is that it’s just a dashed-all bad idear.
Will that be one DIP or two? Either way, you’ll never pass another one of those signs without smiling. You might even slide your eyes right for a minute, then reach for the ‘window down’ button . . .
Loving you,
Dan
(c) 2013