The Best-Laid Plans

Rabbie (Robert) Burns was either a poet-patriot or a poet-traitor depending on which side of Hadrian's Wall you happened to live during the last part of the 18th century. No matter. He nailed 'it' with his poem, "To A Mouse" which, according to lore, resulted from his turning up her nest with a plow in November, 1785:

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
        Wi' bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
        Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
        Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
        An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daamen-icker in a thrave
         'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
         An' never miss 't!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's still wa's the win's are strewin!
An naething, now, to big a new ane,
          O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
          Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary Winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
           Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
           Out thro' thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost the monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
            But house or hald,
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble,
            An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
           Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
           For promis'd joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,
            On prospects drear!
 An' forward tho' I canna see,
            I guess an' fear!

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173072

It's this line that's stuck through the ages:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley, 

In other words - even in the best laid plans of mice and men shit happens. Wheels fall off. Things go sideways and, these past few days, I'm facing a plethora of wheels falling off and shit happening. It is what I call a Cosmic Convergence where the whirlwind of the cosmos seems to be wrapping itself around me, throwing things at me from all directions.

I got a frantic e-mail from hubby yesterday about our aged cat, Sam.

This picture was taken a few years ago, when he was about fifteen. Yesterday, at going on nineteen, he "exploded" from both ends several times, leaving a path of destruction through the house. Then he spent much of the afternoon moaning and crying.

It looked like the Time Had Come for my last little fur-baby and it broke my heart even though he is nineteen years old and it's not unexpected. It is, after all, the eventual outcome for anything that lives.

After getting the frantic phone call and then going back and forth with my asking for hubby to wait and then rethinking because I didn't want Sam to suffer for a minute if he didn't have to, we decided to wait. Hubby decided to wait and I was forty miles a way at work so unable to figure if it was a good decision or a bad, but figured I'd find out when I got home.

By then, at six o'clock last night, Sam was better. He was sleeping and seemed normal all last evening. I watered him - standing at the sink so he could drink from the palm of my hand. I fed him and he ate. It all seemed okay. Which leads us to wonder what led to that. Whatever. It's resolved so now it's a matter of starting forward from here.

At work, I was frustrated because I have something on my desk that I want resolved (dammit!). I've been trying for a week to meet with the people who will decide but every time we have something set up, something else more critical comes along and bumps it. On top of the kitty-crisis yesterday, having this meeting bumped again (fourth time), drove me to the edge of the cliff. I whined. Just like a petulant five-year old. Which I try hard not to do at work or anywhere else. It's so unattractive!

Fortunately, the "whinee" is understanding and, after whining and fussing I went down and apologized, explaining the frustration and everything. He empathized and we're good. The Respect-o-meter took a downward swing, but it's not irreparable. We'll meet today and get it done and I'll be happy.

On top of and associated with that, I have a vendor waiting for an answer - and they have been waiting for more than a week on something that should be, in most cases, easily solved and/or answered. Between the internal (direction/clarity) and the external (vendor) I feel like I'm caught in the middle - a place I don't like to be. That contributed to the whine (or whinge, depending on which side of the Pond you happen to be).

Outside and apart from this I discovered something very unpleasant the other day. It's really, really unwelcome information. It is a big sloppy wet hairball of a mess, and there isn't a bloody thing I can do about it. I can't even write and rant about it. All I can do is internalize it - something else I'm not good at doing.

I did put up a post on Facebook about it, then had second thoughts and took it down again. Maybe I should talk it out in the privacy of my car on my drives to and from work until it's out of my system... Now there's an idea. Just verbalize it in a place where no one can hear, no one will know and I can express my frustration to its fullest extent.

And the more I think about this, the more I want to stomp my feet, flail my arms and then fling myself to the floor and indulge in a full-on temper tantrum. There are just some things in life that aren't fair. They're unfair and when there's nothing you can do about it - feeling like a fly stuck in amber - all you can do is rage. But, with things going the way they are, I'd probably hurt myself. Knock my head or hit something while I flail and have yet another misery to add to the pile gathering around my knees.

Then, compounding all of that, is that I'm simply grouchy. Grouchy because a few years ago I lost a lot of weight - about forty pounds. I didn't do the fad diet thing. I didn't do anything but slow my eating to a graze, get a little more exercise and so on. Now I feel like it's all coming back. I lost it and now it's finding me again and I am not happy.

Part of it is, I think, my thyroid malfunctioning. I had thyroid problems in my early twenties and was on meds for it for about ten years, then I got preggers. That solved that for some reason and I haven't had problems since. Now, though, the weight gain, low energy, dry skin, hair is doing weird things all seem to point in the direction of the base of my throat.

Which isn't necessarily the end of the world. It just means I have to be more careful about what I eat (and how much), get more veggies and flax, more protein and less fat. But it's a nuisance. I'm hoping I can solve this without the meds because I won't even take my vitamins let alone 'scrips.

So, grr. Ah well, c'est la vie, c'est la guerre - all of this shall pass and then it'll be something else.

I hope you have a grouch-free, grump-free wonderful day! Me? I'm gonna go have that tantrum.

Best~
Philippa

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Whinging, with a "G", which we've lost

The British version of English is a wonderful thing. They have words we don't. They even toss extra letters into their stuff, and it's really neat. Like a recipe for a favorite dish with which you're so familiar you just throw it together without a lot of thought. Then you go someplace and it's there and boom, they've mixed it up. Added a little sumpthin' that kicks you back on your heels and surprises you.

Take the word 'whine'. That's one. Americans say 'whine' and 'would you like a little cheese with that whine' and it's customary and okay.

Then, when I started hanging out with my Brit buds, I started learning new words - really cool words, like 'gobsmacked'.

I love that word. I love that word so well I wish I had more occasions on which it would be appropriate to use. But that one is a Charlotte Russe of a word - only brought out for really special occasions, like Christmas.

Whinge is another one. It means the same thing as 'whine'. Except, with that 'g' tucked in there, I can both see and hear the snot-faced three-year old tugging mummy's skirt because s/he's not getting that whatever it is that they want.

So what's the point of this, other than saying again how well I like words?

Because I'm trying hard not to whinge. It's not nice. It's unpleasant for the listener or hearer or viewer. Yes, it is something we all do from time-to-time, but that doesn't make it okay because, in the final analysis, what does whinging ever do for us? Nothing. Not a thing except, maybe in the right company, get you murmurs of sympathy and commiseration. But those are cold comfort, too.

I was raised in a family where whinging wasn't tolerated. Nothing momentous would happen to the whinger. There was no punishment, no 'oh shut it, will you?'. It was just ignored or, if it went on long enough to be really annoying, a firm declaration of 'then do something about it'. And there is the crux of it.

If you can do something about it, you use precious time and energy whinging about it. Of course, it could be a double-team effort. You whinge while you work - a working whinge if you will. But that really doesn't accomplish much because if you're solving the problem about which you're complaining, you soon won't have anything about which to complain.

If you can't do anything about it, what's the point of whinging? You're not accomplishing anything. It's beyond your control. All you're doing is irritating those around you. Particularly if it's anything more than a brief outburst. Like, "God! I hate that!!" Pithy, general, non-specific so listeners, unless it's obvious, won't see or know what you hate, but it's pithy and that's pretty good.

And here we are. After spiraling in on that point, I'm at the heart of it. The reason behind all that above. Headlights. Or, more specifically, fucking morons without a lick of sense or consideration for other drivers who don't know how to operate the bloody things.

Can you tell this is a hot button? Does that term 'fucking moron' show it? Well, it's precisely how I feel.

Now that it's winter again, with the short days and longer nights, I'm commuting home in the evening in the dark. I drive along narrow, two-lane roads that twist and wind and have deer and raccoons and skunks lurking in the underbrush, waiting to pounce as I drive by. Nobody (me) wants to run down Bambi or Flower or Rocky*, so we all turn our high beams on so we can see what lies ahead. The concept there is that there is actually a switch - a toggle - that allows drivers to switch between low beams and high beams.

When the way is clear, with no oncoming vehicles, you turn on the high beams. When another car approaches, you turn them down at the point at which you think those beams will become annoying and dangerous. Then, when your car passes theirs, you turn them up again - assuming there's not another car coming.

The problem is, there are a whole lot of fucking morons (FM) out there who will not turn down their high beams when they approach another car. They leave them on - blinding the other driver (me) - and making the process of passing one another far more dangerous than it already is by nature. Worse is the FM who gets behind you, close enough to ensure they'll get your phone number if Bambi or Flower or Rocky does leap in front of your car, and leaves their high beams on.

I have been known to get so annoyed that I adjust my rear view mirror so that their irritating headlight beams get directed right back into their eyes, but that's dangerous, too. Done right, it does get them to back off fairly quickly and then I readjust the rear view to a normal position. That tactic is is used only on occasions where I don't think it's overly dangerous. I won't do it on the windy back roads I now drive, which makes my frustration that much greater. Now I just tilt the rear view all the way up, pointing at the headliner, but that doesn't solve the glare from the side mirrors.

Perhaps it's the technology. Perhaps the headlights themselves have gotten brighter and the lights are on low, but I'll tell you, it is annoying as can be to be driving along a windy two-lane road and not be able to see where I'm going because some FM is coming toward me with lights so bright they blind me, or the idiot who's sitting on my tail who will end up in the back of my car if I do have to brake for Bambi or Flower or Rocky.

So there's the whinge which, as almost always, doesn't change anything.

But this is "fixable". I do have choices. I can spend the next five months dealing with this every night - getting to work at about the same time I've been every day and leaving at about the same time every evening, and fighting the bright lights and being annoyed and tempted to give as good as I get. Or, I can hie myself out of the house earlier. Get to work at seven o'clock in the morning and work until four o'clock and be home around twilight - before the headlights are all the way on.

That would require negotiation on the work front, but it's do-able. Then, next spring, I would go back to the seven-thirty / eight to four-thirty / five o'clock time frame. Or not, depending on how things shake out.

Of course, that means I actually have to hie myself. Negotiate and get buy-in from those who might care. Get up, get moving, not have as much or any time to write or drink coffee or just chill. Hmm. Takes some thought, but it is an option to be considered and debated and, perhaps, acted upon.

Anyway, back to that * I plugged in there earlier - Rocky is in reference to a Beatles song, Rocky Raccoon.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nktOEkrAD8

Now, with that out of my system, I hope you have a bright sunny day with no annoyances!

Best~
Philippa

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