Posted in dogs, running, walking

Don’t worry about me. Just go.

Photo by Alex Radelich on Unsplash

She stopped right in the middle of the road.

I shouted, “What are you doing?” I actually shouted that to the Great Dane who was, for once, obediently sitting next to me. We were just waiting for the traffic to pass so we could cross the street and continue our walk.

But this lady decided to stop. Right in the middle of the road. Right in the middle of a busy street.

Okay, let me explain. I’m a city boy. I grew up in suburban Philadelphia. You don’t walk out in front of traffic. Not if you don’t want to die. But here in Florida, people do it all the time. I know, pedestrians have the right of way. But that’s assuming pedestrians have looked both ways to see if any cars are coming.

The rules are different in Florida. I blame Walmart. In front of their store, cars have to stop for people walking through the striped areas of the parking lot. I watch many walk out without a glance for oncoming cars. I’m not so brave. I wait. I let them go. I don’t trust them. (I don’t trust anyone.) I’m not going to walk in front of any car, assuming it will stop for me.

So we are out for our morning walk. The Great Dane and I have crossed to the middle island of the four lane parkway that runs north and south through our city. She is doing well today. She sits next to me as we wait for the traffic to pass. I am ready to say, “Heel,” as the last car in a pack goes by. But the car slows and comes to a stop. Really? Just like that, when other cars are zipping by?

I’m not falling for that. We’re staying put. I simply look away, as if I don’t notice them at all. I’ll wait. I’ve got all day. Finally, they drive off, and we can cross the road.

I’ve had this problem running, too. I am pacing myself, waiting for a car to pass, and they slow down or stop. They think they are doing me a favor. I chuckle, and run around behind them. Just drive your car. Don’t worry about me. Just go.

I’ve run and biked enough miles that I know how to avoid people who aren’t paying attention, couldn’t care less, and probably shouldn’;t be driving anyway. You live longer when you’ve got some situational awareness and don’t trust anyone.

Posted in Life, time

Right on time: we missed all the excitement

As I came down the highway exit ramp, I saw the red flashing lights off to my left. I saw the police car first, then a car with a smashed in driver’s side, and then a pickup truck up against a tree. I shifted lanes to pass by, noticing more lit-up police cars approaching from both directions. Within a quarter mile, two fire engines, three more police cars and an EMT flew past us. A response like that means a fatality. Just a few minutes later, the radio reported all lanes closed in both directions.

We missed it by a minute.

If we had left the house one minute earlier, we might have been the ones involved in the crash. If we had left the house one minute later, we would have been stuck in stand-still traffic.

We didn’t experience either. We left at the right time, drove at the right speed, and missed all the excitement. Coincidence? Providence? Who knows. Grateful? Absolutely.

In some cultures, time isn’t relevant. On mission trips to Haiti and Kenya, morning departure time for the clinic was when the trucks arrived. Lunchtime? When the food showed up. What time should we be ready for supper? When we no longer heard the sound of chickens from the kitchen, there was still time for a nap before washing up.

The inner city church where I interned started the worship when it looked like most of the congregation was present.

In my grandchildren’s world, it’s always snack time. It doesn’t matter if only been minutes since lunch or just a few moments before supper, they’re trolling for snacks. With the last bite of a snack in one hand, they are already pleading for the next.

In other settings, time rules. I remember family members missing a baptism because they showed up ten minutes late for worship. Leave those spritz cookies in the oven one extra minute and the bottoms are burnt. If I don’t check in online exactly twenty-four hours before my flight, I’ll end up sitting in a different row than my wife.

Early? Late? On time? In retirement, it doesn’t seem to matter as much. Except when I miss all the excitement at the scene of a crash.

Posted in annoying people

Motionless

2087561_fed-up1_jfxeaqbh63vorhnrwcs4oomcjs2ptt7hevj74cagwi5qbj2htjuq_757x567On the way home from the Orlando airport, I stopped at a McDonald’s on 436. (Yes, I know, two visits to McDonald’s in just a few months. Don’t worry; I worked it off.)

Not much of a line, not much of a wait. Order placed, money paid. One white car ahead of me at the pick-up window. Sweet. This won’t take long.

They get their drink and their bag, and they…just sit there. No movement. OK, maybe they are waiting for one more item. I’m in no hurry. How long could it be?

Much longer than I thought. Ten minutes later, with a line of at least a dozen cars behind me, no movement. Horns start beeping. People are getting out of their cars, looking to see what’s going on. One person gets out of his car and walks up to the car ahead of mine, looking in the window. Another guy demands his food from the payment window and roars off. I’m stuck in-between windows and can’t do that.

Now it’s been fifteen minutes, and still no movement. Won’t the car start? Have the people inside expired? Should we call 911? No one gets in or out of the cars, but suddenly, a blue car ahead of the motionless car, that I hadn’t seen before, guns it and squeals out into the road. The roadblocking white car keeps up, burning rubber out onto a busy 436.

So what was going on up there? Finishing up a phone call? Watching a video? An argument? Yelling at the kids? Simply oblivious to the world around them? Possibly all of the above. Just because they call it fast food doesn’t mean you’ll get out of there quickly.