Courage

Three times recently, God has sent me situations where I could have made a difference. Three times, I stood back and relied on someone else to step in where I didn't.

At school on Tuesday, I noticed a stray dog running around the campus grounds ahead of me. As our paths were about to intersect, he darted out into the street. I looked up and saw a car headed straight for him. Did I wave my arms, yell, and try to keep this mutt from getting smashed? No. I just covered my eyes with my hands, turned my head and waited for the thump.

Luckily, the girl walking behind me also saw what was about to happen. She screamed and alerted the driver of the dog, much to the driver's (and the dog's) relief.

Last night, my husband and I were playing with our dog, Bo. The dog was excited and jumped up on the futon. His back leg slipped off the mattress and ended up caught in the frame. Of course, this freaked him out and he started to jump to the floor, which would have most certainly broken his wedged leg.

Thank goodness, John sprang into action and lifted the dog up and out of the frame. I, instead, sat there silently with a horrified look on my face.

And this morning on my drive in to work, I noticed that the road ahead was really foggy. Then I realized it wasn't fog, but smoke coming from a house. There were no fire trucks or first responders or anyone. And sadly, no frightened family standing outside watching their home burn. As I slowly drove past, I dialed 911 and reported the fire. Apparently, someone else had already called it in and she asked if the fire department was there yet. During the conversation with the operator, a first responder did show up and I drove on.

Why didn't I stop? Why didn't I go running up to the house the second I realized that it was smoke coming from the roof? I keep picturing the family asleep inside, slowly dying from the smoke. I pray that they are all ok and that they did not suffer from my lack of courage.

Monkey mystery revealed

My Monday night class has some interesting characters in it- English classes always do. We have one girl who had her own fight club, another who is growing a pretty nice goatee, and one guy who apparently worships the sun- not in the George Hamilton kind of way, but in the build an alter and sacrifice lambs kind of way. (Actually I don't know if he has ever sacrificed an animal, but you get the point.)

But my personal favorite was the girl who carried the stuffed monkey. Everyday. She seemed pretty normal except for the fact that there was a stuffed monkey sitting in her lap during class. I wanted to ask her so many times, but never had the nerve to just say, "Hey, what's with the monkey?"

Last night, she told the story of how she came to carry the monkey. She told us that she was having trouble adjusting to college life and was struggling with depression. While visiting a gift shop with her family, she saw this monkey and he just called out to her. She bought him and took him to class with her the next day as a kind of safety blanket. When she returned to class a few days later without the monkey, people asked her where he was. And so, she began carrying him with her from then on.

For some reason, this story kind of disappointed me. I was hoping for something with a little more twist to it. Although it is pretty weird for a college senior to carry a stuffed animal, the reason was a bit boring. I was looking for something like- "My father makes me carry it so that I won't have any dates." Or "The soul of my dead cat is in this monkey." Or "What do you mean monkey? This is my child!"

To her credit, monkey girl did give me something to think about when she talked about her depression. She said that depression does not define her any more than Lex Luther defines Superman. Lex is just Spuerman's rival, a force that he fights against. I kind of liked that.

We're all ok

Just a few more weeks and I will gradute with my bachelor's degree. Finally! Only forteen years after I graduated high school. I hear some people only take four years get through it. Overachievers!!
One of my last assignments is to talk for 8-10 minutes about what I believe and why I need to believe that. This is really a tough assignment for me. One of my favorite quotes is "I would rather have a mind opened by wonder than one closed by belief." (Gerry Spence) There are very few things that I believe so strongly that I would never even consider another person's beliefs. So when I start working on this talk, I end up with more questions than statements.
Is it bad to be this way? It's not that I don't know what I believe or that I am lost and searching for some truth. It's just that I feel like by expressing my beliefs I am saying that another person's beliefs are wrong. And I don't feel qualified to say that, just as I feel that no one I know is qualified to tell me that my beliefs are wrong.
I'm glad that people have differing opinions. Anything that makes me question my stance on an issue helps me to define what is important to me and to learn why I feel the way I do about the subject. I think I might need to change my life song to the theme song from "Different Strokes".--What might be right for you may not be right for some--

Decaf please

Things I am stressed about right now:

1. My campaigns project is due in two weeks and we finally got started on it just last night.
2. Our tax guy misplaced our taxes and then filed an extension for us without bothering to call and let us know.
3. My hair is falling out on top and I am afraid I will look like my father.
4. My parent's 50th wedding anniversary is in less than two months and it is my job to plan it.
5. I turned in a shit paper in one of my classes and I really need that class to graduate.
6. My niece is graduating next month.
7. The prospect of building a new house keeps getting farther and farther away.
8. I am trying to eat healthier, but I am still gaining weight.
9. I feel like I am really slipping at my job.
10. My house is a disaster.
11. My hair has stopped responding to treatment and now does its own thing.
12. My skin is freaking out and I have zits. I thought it would be a temporary thing, but it keeps going.

I know what time it is

Yes, we are those people. We are the ones the tax prep guys hate. As usual, this year we will come to a screeching halt in front of the financial services office, jump from the car with receipts trailing behind us, lunge through the door then throw ourselves on the ground in front of the receptionist begging for an appointment with the ALMIGHT TAX PREP GUY. (And in case he is reading this, I mean that in the most reverential way.) And again, she will sigh, glancing at the calendar while she begins filling out our forms. She is not surprised. She is not worried.

So how is it that just this morning, my husband realized- "Holy shit! Our taxes are due in one week!"

Then he has to call me at work and share this revelation. I refuse to get excited, because although I may not be as smart as the tax prep guy’s receptionist, I too, have caught on to the pattern. My lack of panic completely pissed him off and by the end of the conversation, he was threatening me with divorce. I’m not sure how it is my fault that he does not have his receipts gathered and figured, but I am sure it is. And I’m sure that we will not be the only ones in the tax office this week. I just hope there is not a line to grovel for the receptionist.