Patience is the Key

I lost my keys.
Not lost exactly, but I did not know where they were.

They had to be in the house somewhere, the car was in the garage and that could only be if I drove it in there... with the keys. These things happen when you don't pay attention to the little details in life. There is a disconnect between the brain and the body.

Well my body put my keys somewhere and my brain was not impressed.

As a duly deserved punishment, the body then had to wander the house, looking first in the likely places, then the less likely. I am pretty good at this, I even pick things up and look under them. Round and round the body goes, exhausting first all the probabilities, then on to possibilities, stopping short of the impossibilities because that means looking under the furniture.

Nothing. Hmm.
The world does not end, no sleep is lost, they are somewhere.

By morning however, the brain began to feel some frustration and took the body for yet another loop for a second and third look at all the places I already looked. Round and round. Is this a waste of time? Of course it is.
Checking pockets of coats I wasn't wearing, looking in drawers that I hadn't opened; any observer would note that the body is now in automatic; having learned the routine. The brain revs up trying to remember the exact events following my arrival home.

Ok.
Enough.

Just before the panic began to set in I remembered that there is a spare set to get me out the door and to work, because even a primitive life form eventually learns from past mistakes. Another thing this life form has learned is not to try and force the memory, it is a fragile and sensitive thing and does not respond well to pressure. I left it to percolate for the day, convinced it would eventually spit out the answer I was seeking.

It is very easy, once you begin to get older, to stress forgetfulness; to become concerned that if you continue at this rate you might want to tattoo your own name on your arm, just in case. I prefer to view it simply as a very full mind, like a large room stacked with boxes all stuffed full of memories and information. It is all there, it just takes a bit more effort to dig through it all to find what you are looking for.
Some folks, I think, have nice orderly minds, with alphabetized information, possibly colour-coded memories. Mine is a mess; childhood memories interfiled with useless trivia, old phone numbers and a truly frightening hoard of song lyrics. It may need more time, that's all.

Anyway.
A full 24 hours after my arrival home the answer finally meandered in, and it made perfect sense. My keys were in the trashcan in the garage; dropped there along with the road trip refuse in an uncharacteristic fit of tidiness. The real bonus here is that today was garbage day, and if I had not wasted all that time running around looking for them, I would have had the time to take that can to the curb.

City Streets Part 2

I had opportunity to test my road bemusement today, and failed, miserably.
The geography of this account will be easier for local Winnipeggers to comprehend, but the rest of you are welcome to follow along, as long as you sit quietly and don't rustle papers.

Coming off Disraeli towards Main St; already late for work but expecting a bit of a slower commute during rush hour, the traffic slows to a dead stop.
There is a closed lane. I see a sign, some pylons and a barricade.
Sigh.
It is 4:45

I move over to the still moving lane and roll down the window to enjoy the spring sunshine. I am only about a dozen cars from Main St. Shouldn't be too long, right? The folks in my lane are polite and begin to let the trapped cars in to make the turn, as do I.
The traffic light changes, once twice, five times, and I move ahead one car length.
Sigh.
Beside me have appeared another set of trapped drivers, all eager to get to where they are going. And the polite folks let them in. I have a certain amount of tolerance for these sneaks, I have resorted to this tactic myself on occasion, when in a hurry.
Sigh.
It is 4:55

This is about where the bemusement begins to change to irritation, but the sun is warm and the tunes are blasting; life is good. I have now not moved an inch in 10 minutes. One or two cars get through every light change, but I seem glued to the road where I sit.
Beside me appear another set of trapped drivers. And the generous folks ahead let them in.
Growl.
My relaxed pose is begins to leave me, my irritation is steadily morphing into anger. I glue myself to the car in front of me; inching forward one more car length. I am done being polite.
Growl.
Mutter.
It is 5:00

A few impatient cars leave the turning lane to seek an alternate route, but each is replaced by those goddamn sneaks! The lights change, and again, and again.
I could not see far back, but in 20 minutes I guessed the traffic was likely backed up at least to the middle of the freeway if not all the way back over the river.
Growl.
Mutter.
Curse.
It is 5:05

Finally! I reach the barricade, dying to see why we have been held back for; what monumentally important construction or event has held us all back all this time.

Nothing.
There is nothing, no construction, no event.

I thought about all the irritation yet behind me; all those poor people, waiting, growling, muttering, cursing. For nothing.

On went a big grin and the super cape and out the door I flew.
First the sign,
then the pylons,
then the barricade.. I dragged them all up on the sidewalk;
before the light turned green.

And I didn't feel angry any more.

City Streets Part 1

I don’t have a need for road rage; I do quite well with simple road irritation, or sometimes even road bemusement.

I drive like you are all out to get me, and it sure seems some days like you are. Oh yeah, I will curse loudly and enthusiastically after being cut off, but l think that is just a lingering habit. If you signal left and then turn right, I’ll just be shaking my head and laughing; I expect that sort of thing. If you approach the intersection I am sitting at with your signal on, I will be waiting to be sure you are actually at least slowing for the turn, ‘cause l know you may just want to mess with my head, and possibly my fender.

Besides, whatever idiocy you exhibit, I probably have done it myself at some time. I am a fairly good driver by all accounts, but must admit to the occasional bone-head vehicular maneuver, pissing people off. I have found that nothing irritates that scowling, fist shaking motorist more than flashing them a huge smile and a friendly wave.
Yes…. friendly; as in using ALL your fingers.

For a brief but memorable time I worked as a driving instructor. Donning my super cape I set out, confidant that I could make sure the roads were just a little safer by educating folks how to be great drivers…yup yup. In reality, by the time people actually pay someone to teach them how to drive, they have already explored the do-it-yourself method and failed; repeatedly. Their dad, cousin, sister, and the neighbour have all already thrown their hands up and sent them off to get professional help.
Hiring a professional driving instructor also implies guaranteed success; if they pay for lessons they expect stunning results. I quickly learned that l needed to hang up the cape, to simply teach them how to pass the test, stay alive and not kill anyone.

When I was a kid, dad would pile us all in the car for a Sunday drive. I never just ‘go for a drive’ anymore. I am not sure anyone still does. If you see me driving by, I am definitely on my way TO somewhere. If you see me, give me a big smile and a friendly wave. You know how.