RANDOM VERBOSITY . . .

Yesterday evening, on the way to JKA's place for our Thursday-night gab-fest, I decided to drive the long way through town. I hadn't been through town in a long while, so I took my time, rolling along at exactly the posted speed limit, glancing left and right to see who was strolling around, what was going on at the library, who was stepping out for dinner at the local restaurants. As I approached a particularly dangerous intersection on the main drag, I slowed down; there were pedestrians everywhere, and a bit of leftover rush-hour traffic, so I didn't want to just drive on through, even though it was my right-of-way.

This intersection is where a feeder road off the highway bisects into the main drag. A prominent stop sign greets anyone who wants to get onto the main strip. Even after the stop sign is fully observed, it can often take several seconds for traffic to clear up enough for the cars to get onto the main drag. I always slow down as I approach this intersection because inevitably, some stupid high school kid with a death wish and/or a bizarre sense of entitlement (not unheard of in my white-shoe town) is going to slide through the stop sign expecting all other vehicles to yield to him. Imagine my surprise when instead of being cut-off by a teenager in a new Acura, I am almost clipped by a series of two of the largest black SUVs I've ever seen, both sporting numerous antennas and massively tinted windows, followed by a sleek black Town Car, also sporting antennas and dark windows.

In a second, it occurred to me. I just got cut off by a Clinton mini-motorcade!!

Either Hillary or Bill must have been coming home for the evening. That's fine. I have no issues with them living in my town. I don't care that they used to shut down the local Starbucks just so Bill could have a cuppa. I don't care that you can't get decent service at the local deli when they're stopping in for lunch. But I DO care when they ignore THEIR stop sign and almost hit MY car with their ENORMOUS vehicles, the likes of which I've never seen. C'mon guys, slow down a little . . .

But then in the next second, it occurred to me. I just got cut off by a Clinton mini-motorcade!! And it was kind of thrilling, this pseudo-brush with celebrity. Jeez, I'm such a sucker.

***

I hate being humbled. Many things tie into my desire to never be humbled: I don't like people telling me I'm wrong, I don't like realizing that I am wrong, I don't like the possibility of people gloating as they watch me change my behavior according to the way in which they corrected me.

But it's different when the humbling is done with love and care and an eye towards the general good, not just towards correcting ME. That's what Thursdays with JW and JKA are like. I can whine and complain about whatever and whoever I want; they will listen to me. I can bitch and snipe and bad-mouth whatever and whoever I want; they will listen to me. I can proclaim that my heart is forever hardened and I am never going to forgive and I am DONE with being the nice girl; they will listen to me.

And then they will forgive me and encourage me to not whine, complain, bitch, snipe, bad-mouth, harden my heart, be unforgiving or mean. Not in an arrogant or holier-than-thou tone, but in an "I feel you, man, but it ain't right" commiseration. Not with the intent to try to change me overnight, but to urge me to take baby steps towards being a more gracious and open-hearted person. Not to create a 180-degree change in the circumstances, from bad to gloriously wonderful, but to show me that even a 5-degree thaw is better than a continuous freeze.

So, I still hate being humbled. But it's better when it's not so painful. And if it doesn't hurt, I'm willing to give it another shot . . . and another shot . . . and another shot.

***

I subscribe to Real Simple magazine. In my several months of being a loyal reader, I have come to realize one very interesting and important thing: Real Simple does not simplify my life at all. All the tips, ideas, recipes, suggestions offered to simplify and streamline my diet, my workout, my physical, emotional and mental life, my closet, my car, my kitchen, my desk, don't do that at all. Rather, they stress me out!

To follow their closet-organization tips means that I have to go out and purchase closet organizers. To follow their "easy" recipes means that I have to go out and do some grocery shopping of items I wouldn't normally buy. To follow their simple all-in-one workout means that I have to go out and acquire some sort of large rubber ball -- where the heck would I store that thing?! To follow their car-cleanliness suggestions means that I would have to spend a whole day detailing my vehicle.

I just don't have the time, energy or money to squeeze my own fruit juices; search out the local organic grocery; create a bedroom sanctuary using candles, drapes and throw pillows; sit in silence and meditate for half an hour every day; transform my home office into a hooked-up, technologically-advanced, media-laden outlet.

So I browse Real Simple every month, imagining all the wild and crazy and not-so-simple things I would do with my life, my house and my car if I were a Lady of Leisure and Means. Maybe one of these days. Dare to dream . . .