The Big Bad Wolf

Can someone please explain to me why there are so many absolutely crazy people these days? 

After doing some work on the bathroom at our place at the lake, I find myself with a washer and dryer to sell.  They’re in great shape, they run really well.  We put in a stack set in an effort gain a little floor space in the bathroom, so the old set has now taken up residence with a bunch of other stuff in our garage.

Shouldn’t be a problem, right?   I mean with all the electronic ways to sell things today, they should be gone by tomorrow.   That would be wrong…….

I immediately went to everyone’s favorite….Craigslist.  Since I’m not advertising in the personals column, or looking for a discreet meeting with a massage therapist what could go wrong??

I can only imagine what happens when anyone in any state in the U.S. posts something on Craigslist….alarms bells must go off in every phone tank and scam artist work room in Nigeria.  I immediately got a response that requested my home phone, email address and other important information.   Oddly enough, they were really unconcerned how much I was asking or what the set looked like.  “I will liking you to sell me them…..”

Not to be outdone the next interested person, who just happened to be out of town visiting his/her son, said he/she would be “hoppy” to send me a check and arrange ‘for-to’ get the items later…….uh-huh.

Today I got another inquiry.  This person wants to know if I still have the “item” and would like me to send my email address so we can discuss this matter.   Why do you need my personal address.....you just emailed me!

I have not had even one serious inquiry, just six contacts with people looking for any opportunity to make a quick buck at my expense.  They know they only need a few minutes with some people to arrest their intelligence long enough to fleece them.  I’ve come to the conclusion that the scam artists and crazies have taken over the internet, the phone system and snail mail to ‘reach out and touch someone’.    From the elderly lady who’s been informed by mail that she just won the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes, to the homeowner who will never again lay eyes on the fellow he just paid to seal his driveway ‘next week’…..we all have been introduced to the never ending stream of wolves just looking for a stray to pounce on.

Keep a tight hand on your wallet and a close eye on your elderly relatives; the bad guys never sleep.

 

I Miss my Convertible

Earlier in the year I made the decision that, because of age (the cars, not mine) it was time to trade in my convertible.  It had served me well, but, as the repairs become more than a new car payment would be each month, I eventually came to the decision that the time had come.

I didn’t really choose the car I ended up buying as much as it chose me.  My Mother purchased the car, but shortly the day came when she couldn’t drive any more.  It was serendipitous that her car needed to find a new home and I needed to find another car.

That’s how I came to own a chalk-white, Chevy Impala.  This truly is the “white cotton panty, sensible-shoe, take your vitamins” car of adulthood that I never wanted to own.    In short, it’s a grown up’s car, and I have never cared much for being a grown up.  (Deep sigh)  It was a logical decision, like having your teeth cleaned regularly or keeping up with your mammograms. 

Here’s the big disconnect.  When I was driving my convertible I felt free as a bird as I embraced the only form of going topless in the summer that I am willing to consider.   More importantly, from the first time behind the wheel of that car I detected a kinship with other convertible drivers.  Hair blowing in the wind, my stash of fast food napkins taking flight from the back seat floor…we would nod as we blew past one another.  It was a mute acknowledgement of automotive superiority that I learned to appreciate.  Granted, there wasn’t nearly as much nodding going on in the winter time, but nothing is perfect.

This morning I drove in to work and I saw the lucky convertible drivers whipping along the highway, nodding to one another in their secret way.   I felt abandoned to my chalk-white Chevy Impala for the first time.    

It is what it is.  I am the owner of a chalk-white Chevrolet and I must get on with my life.  My insurance carrier appreciates the change…my sun damaged skin likes the switch...my hair isn’t sunburned, either.  There are positives to every change, and I need to get a grip on those things until I either grow up, or talk my husband into a new convertible.

If you are a chalk-white Chevy driver and a woman you’ve never seen before, driving an identical car, nods at you for no apparent reason chances are it’s me, looking for a little hard-top camaraderie.

                                                                           Life is Good

 

 

The Universal Contract

Over the last few weeks I have been dealing with a couple of people (who shall remain nameless) who seem to have given up on life.  Personal loss, advancing age, boredom, depression...all of these things seem to have converged and the joy of living has dimmed, if not gone completely out.

One person told me, "I agree with Jody Arias on TV.  She was being interviewed and she said she just wanted to die.  She told the reporter death is the ultimate freedom."   Although I have long become accustomed to this persons dark point of view, I admit to being taken aback.    In response I gave the standard "buck up, it's not that bad" speech that I could see had little or no effect.  Words failed me; I left feeling helpless and more than a little sad.

How do you help a person who seems to have given up on this life?   Is it even possible to explain to someone in such a mental state that every second of life is precious?  It brought to my mind the people I have known,  and some I know right now, who are fighting for their lives. Would these two realize how precious their lives are if they actually thought they had only a short time to live?

I'm a grown up; I know the universe isn't based upon what's "fair".  But, if it were, it seems to me there ought to be a system akin to cell phone 'roll over minutes' for our life span.   Let's imagine that we all knew how much time we are allotted, but that time could be cut short by accident or disease or personal choice.   Mr. Smith has the regulation 86.4 years to live, but by the age of 66 he really isn't interested in continuing.  He has another 20.4 years left on his universal contract, right?    It just so happens that Mrs. Jones, age 24, has a disease that will be her end in just a few more months.  Mr. Smith offers her his remaining 20.4 years that he no longer wants.  Those years 'roll over' to Mrs. Jone's universal contract and....voila!    Happy ending.

I'm sure there are some bugs that would have to be worked out.  I'm also sure some hungry capitalist  would likely find a way to make a buck manipulating the system somehow. I suppose such a crazy idea really underscores the reason God runs the universe and I run the vacuum cleaner.  Still, it is a shame that time is too short for those who appreciate it and just a burden to those who don't.

I am grateful for every sunrise....mindful of every sunset.

                                   Life is Good