Maybe because my father's mental state is deteriorating; maybe because my youngest granddaughter is realizing people don't live forever; maybe because another friend has died; or maybe because it just seems there's never an end to the pain and suffering and work and disappointment and stupidity of people - I find my wishing I could stop the clock. Just for a day so we could all look around us and take notice of the things that are truly important.
Enough of this "reality" TV crap and texting and accumulating "friends" on Facebook and My Space and imitating morons paraded across magazine pages and videos.
Is it my age or disability or the fact that I'm no longer a member of the rat race that leaves me wondering what all the clamor's about?
Just what the hell's wrong with walking through the woods admiring the new growth on pine trees and watching squirrels scamper through the underbrush?
And why obsess over seeing your reflection in the kitchen floor because you've bought a mop that squirts cleaner on the floor?
I'd like to wring the necks of people who think "if you're not busy you're boring." They are so "busy" they miss most of their surroundings and have panic attacks if they're without their Ipod, cell phone or antidepressant.
This weekend the summer round of parades and fireworks begins. Thousands of people will crowd the streets, litter the landscape, flaunt their cleavage and hind ends, and obssess about how much beer they have in the cooler so they can gossip while people watching. The marching bands, revevved up engines and booming car audio systems will drown out any quiet while people "have a good time." Big damn deal.
We'll stay here or wander down to a deserted beach with Dad in tow and Sunday - Father's Day - hope his family has sufficiently recovered from their hangovers. As even my non-drinking sister said, "Don't get things going too early. We'll probably be tired." Yeah, and by the time they arrive Dad said he'll be ready for his nap.
Sometimes I think the pine trees can't grow fast enough but then I'm reminded that my memory is fading too. Maybe next year I won't even care.