May. 02, 2003 - 23:46 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Chastened

The day started pretty well, but along the way things went foul. My equanimity was out of sync, mood was bad, nothing seemed to be going right. We went along doing the necessary. Suddenly Heather turned and asked me, "Who are you ?" I was wondering if I should grab the wheel and turn the ignition off until it was possible to tell if she had totally gone around the bend. Rather shaken I played for time and timidly asked, "Don't you know me ?" She said words to the effect that, "You have been bitching, griping and whining ever since you got up this morning and are getting worse !"

That immediately put my mind into "rewind and replay," facing which, sobered me up to reality. She was right. I had picked fault with everything, large or small. Apparently in the night I had made the wrong side of the bed my exclusive property, and proceeded to befoul my mood to the max.

What could I do but quietly and sincerely aplogize and keep my mouth shut. I hadn't called her down per se, but might as well have as apparently even if something had of been right, I would have classified it as being wrong and blathered on about it. Of course the general run of motorists we were among seemed to be at the very peak of insanity, more so than usual. Good thing our windows were rolled up, Heather was the only one who heard my invective, and questions about the ancestry of the drivers we saw. Actually they weren't any crazier than usual.

So a very subdued dude followed Heather in to get a bite to eat and over the table I guess she calmed down and allowed that I might not be an alien after all but just a grumpy old man with his normal hurts and in a bad mood. But her definitive words carried a warning for me, she said, "But watch it Buster," in not quite a growl, but close enough.

We got home, unloaded the stuff, then she to her things to do and me to try to catch up on e-mail while lashing myself with a mental whip for being something I didn't want to be ever. My puerility was of the caliber of a nine year old boy who had a bad night riding nightmares and woke up with a stomach ache and the trots.

So I am going back to my hideout for the weekend while commuting back here at her beck and call, a sadder but wiser man, thoroughly Chastened . . . . . . . .

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