Thursday, March 28, 2019

The Rules


“There are two great rules of life: Never tell everything all at once.”
---Ken Venturi

I like to think I’m a “rules” girl because rules are necessary and most of them exist for good reasons. There are a few that are silly, and I do occasionally break those. The tags on mattresses and pillows? I was yanking those off long before the manufacturers clarified it and said the consumer could take them off. No throw pillow is going to be the boss of me. It wasn’t always this way though; the preschool my mother sent me to kicked me out after two days. The reason? “Gross insubordination.” I objected to just about everything the teachers did and I wasn’t shy about saying so. No one who knows me is surprised by this.

Lately though, there are some concepts and behaviors that should be rules, but are not on the books anywhere. In my cabinet there are two coffee mugs that are strictly mine;  no one but me is allowed to use them. One says “Queen of the #$&* Universe” and the other reads, “She who must be obeyed.” Also, I own a tiara, so just for kicks, I’m taking the throne and making a few rules. Maybe they aren’t real rules, and it’s not like I can do anything if they aren’t followed, but hear me out, they’d make a big difference.

   1)    If you push the button to get the light to change so you can cross the street, make sure you wait for the light to change. Do not push the button and then saunter across the street because there’s a break in traffic. That leaves cars having to stop for no reason. It’s a little thing, but how about we try it? It’s called follow through people, doing what you committed to do. Full disclosure, this is a me thing, a pet peeve, but if I could it would be strictly enforced.
2)    Be quiet in the library. It’s not Starbucks, it’s not the food court at the mall, it is a library. Don’t hold meetings right where people are working. Don’t walk around yapping out loud on your phone. Don’t snog a whole bag of chips and suck down two Diet Cokes. It’s not a picnic area. There are actually signs about this all over most libraries, so, it’s a rule, legit and everything. Call me cranky, but more people need to come out of their bubble of oblivion and remember where they are. Please. Thank you.

   3)    Wait your turn. Everywhere. The line at the dry cleaners, a parking lot, the deli counter etc. These are places that we, in polite society, take turns accessing. You are not special just because you’re in a hurry. Your time is not more valuable than anyone else’s. Exceptions to this are cops or firefighters on their way to a call or an emergency. They get to go first, always and everywhere, but you know, none of them are shoving their way to the front of Java Sun before hopping on the truck. The rest of you can just keep your hair on and take a number.


   4)    Don’t park like a jerk. No taking up two spaces so your car won’t get dinged. No fake handicapped placards, no sticking two feet out into the street. The sign with the words, “No Parking” on it is not a work of fiction. It’s real.  No, you won’t be “just a minute” and yes, it does matter.

  5)    Give everyone a break now and then. Yes, this has been quite a litany of grumpy complaints. Maybe it’s because Spring hasn’t yet fully sprung that I’m feeling so bossy and out of sorts, but it’s really starting to seem like everyone is just on some kind of mission to do whatever they want, regardless of the impact on anyone else. Can we not be that way? Can we maybe just give each other a little room, a little courtesy, a little leeway? Maybe then we wouldn’t need these nitpicky rules?


Normally this column is a positive space and it’s disappointing that it’s not that way this week, but maybe now that this is all out there, everyone will start to obey me. Right. Not so much, and that’s fine, but let’s all be reminded that sometimes, following a few rules makes life easier. If you must be an outlaw, start with the stupid laws, like the one that says it’s illegal to bring a hospital patient a beer. That is just wrong.  



Saturday, March 23, 2019

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire


"No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar."
---Abraham Lincoln

Well, they did call him "Honest Abe" so he likely knew a thing or two about telling the truth. That's the thing with lies, well one of the problems. It's hard to remember what you have said and to whom, and before you know it you're all over the map with a few different stories, and the truth is in the rearview mirror, trying desperately to catch up. While I am Irish and can spew more than a little Blarney, I am a terrible liar. 

Mostly because I forget things, almost instantly, just like my spirit animal Dory, the Royal Blue Tang from down under. There is no way I can prevaricate my way through life because I am lucky if I can remember the real details like my SSN, date of birth, and other vital information. I had to get a password keeper app because remembering all the different PINs and logins was just a bridge too far for me. Also, having them written in a notebook that says "Passwords and Logins" on the front is not good cyber-security.



Is lying always bad though? Don't we all fib just a little from time to time? Yes, we absolutely do. They call them "white lies" and usually they are small, unimportant statements that we all have to make once in a while. That poor, hapless guy who gets asked, "Do these jeans make my butt look big?" has to come up with something better than, "Please don't hurt me." Being a writer helps in situations where telling the God's honest might be problematic — for instance, planning a surprise party. You're going to have to tell someone a whopper if you want the plan to go off perfectly. 

It must be said that I am not the person you want to be tasked with this, however.  The one time I was planning a surprise for someone, it took a conspiracy of seven people to get the birthday girl out of her office so we could decorate it. On my way there, I ran into her, and there was no plausible reason for me being where she was. What did I do? What any good recovering Catholic girl would do, I confessed immediately and begged her to act surprised.

 There is a particular category of lie though, that is entirely forgivable and often entirely necessary: the lies we tell our children. First of all, know this; every parent has lied to their children. We have to; otherwise, their childhood could lose a  fair amount of innocent fun. This is not the space to go into some of the "holiday-inspired" tall tales we tell our toddlers. There will be no comment here on who is real and who is not. But other lies happen in childhood, and sometimes they are necessary to stay sane in those days of small children and their big questions. 


The ones I remember center around family pets. When kids are little, they love their little animal friends, even if it's just a goldfish from the carnival. The trouble is, these fish are the paper cups of the wild kingdom; they are disposable. When Bubbles, one of the many fish we've had, went belly up, I knew that Devin would be inconsolable. There was no way that I had the mental bandwidth on that day for yet another toilet bowl funeral Mass of Christian Burial, so I assured her that he was just sleeping, got her to school, stashed the corpse in the trash, and began the hunt for Bubbles 2.0. I was racing the clock, going from Petco to PetSmart and everywhere else in between before school got out. It only took three hours of driving and shopping to find a stunt double for Bubbles.  By snack time, "Bubbles" was hale and hearty and no one was the wiser. It was a lie but swear to Dog, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, I would do it again.

My ethics are situational when it comes to kids and these small bits of deception. I was lied to as a kid, and I turned out fine. My father told me the reason I had red hair and green eyes was because I was directly descended from the High Kings of Ireland. My cousin Grace Kelly was, after all, a real-life princess, so there you go.