Archives for posts with tag: Patience

While I was away for the weekend, the dishwasher decided that instead of draining the water like normal it would just go ahead and put all of that nasty water onto the kitchen floor – and some in the basement for good measure. Luckily, my sweet, quick thinking girl and her super poodle were there to mop up the mess. And call a plumber. And momentarily question why owning a home seemed like a good idea.

The plumber showed up yesterday to put our fears at ease. It wasn’t such a big deal and the poodle loved him, as you can see:
shirley-plumber

She doesn’t usually care for strangers. Maybe this guy had a good vibe. Maybe the smells of what he pulled from the depths of our drains entranced her. Or, maybe she knew the work he did would make us a little friendlier in the days to come.

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In my new job I spend most of my day sitting beside the same eight people. They are decent folks. They don’t smell. They don’t mind that I swear a little too often. We even have enough in common to keep the small talk from escalating into heated political debates (which seems like an extra plus this time of year).

Yet, as I near the one month mark, my patience has begun to run thin:

Nothing big. Just a laugh that lasts a little too long or a comment about my shoes that I can’t quite read or the speed they walk or their dumb faces. No, no, no. This can’t get out of control. I can’t be tired yet. So I breathe and smile and try to put it all in perspective. We’re lucky to have this job. All of us. It pays pretty well and 95% of the time it is only forty hours a week. That’s not bad. Plenty of time for TV and books and people I like outside those forty hours. I breathe and they laugh at my jokes and we’re ok.

Then again, maybe I’m just mad because this is what I packed for lunch today:

I’ll pack something better, something not so beige tomorrow. That ought to help.

The Army taught how to do pushups, how to polish boots to a high glossy shine, how to sleep anywhere, when to keep my mouth shut and when to take charge. The Army buried itself so deep in my brain I can no longer remember what they taught me and what I was before. But above all else, the Army taught me how to wait.

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The plane I’m waiting for is currently 10 minutes late and that’s ok. All I can do is wait. Getting impatient won’t help. Getting mad at the jackass talking too loud on his cell phone won’t get me on the plane any faster. Nope. All I can do is wait and read and drink my coffee. This is out of my hands. It’s really not such a bad way to spend a morning.

My dog has never played well with others. She is that snotty kid who won’t share her toys and doesn’t like people touching her stuff. And she really doesn’t like another dog cuddling up to her moms. With friends in town (with their shih tzu) this weekend, she’s struggling.

That’s not a smile on her face.

Did I raise her to be like this? Will my kids be this snotty? Will they bite their friends? Shit, I hope not. I calm myself from these thoughts with the idea that I will be able to talk to my kids. I can tell them, “look, if you’re good here we can eat ice cream later.” Yes, my plan is to bribe them. That’s as far as I’ve thought.

I mean, it’s working for the poodle.

The girlfriend and I went to test drive a car today.

My stepfather left me a “guy’s car” when he passed away last year. I call it a guy’s car because it looks like a normal sedan to me but once a week a guy stops to ask me what year it is and if it’s fun to drive. Meh, I say, it’s horrible in the snow.

So, I’m thinking about buying new for the first time or trying to, at least.

Bright and early, we drove to the Subaru dealer in the suburbs. The one google recommended. I’m still not sure why we chose that location. All those shinny cars lined up. We walked around a bit then decided to go inside where a middle aged man reluctantly helped us. Very reluctantly. He didn’t seem to believe I was serious. Maybe I don’t look like the kind of person who really buys a car. What do you think that person looks like? Then, after the test drive, after all the appropriate mpg and road worthy questions, I asked about the trade in value for my car. He offered me a third less than the other dealers I’d talked to.

“Those chips on the bumper you see,” he said, with that smile car sales men have, “They’d have to repaint the whole car. This is the best deal I could possibly give you.”

Fuck you, buddy, I wanted to say. I know I’m just a girl who doesn’t know anything about cars. I know I probably asked all the wrong questions. But look, I want to give you my business. I want to buy the product you’re selling. Doesn’t that deserve at least a little respect. But I didn’t.

I smiled, thanked him, and threw away his business card as soon as I got home.

My landlord just finished mowing our little lawn with a weed-wacker. It took half an hour (I guess it’s not that little). Then, he moved the still full garbage can back behind the house because he can’t remember that garbage day is tomorrow. Patience, I said to myself, he must be here to fix the security light. He must. But, no. No security light for us. Maybe he figures if the bike thieves have already hit this location it’s like a vaccine. No more ill will can befall us. I don’t think he gives us that much thought though.

Giving this man my money becomes harder every month.

I’m not quite ready to buy a house – financially or emotionally. Soon I hope. I’m itching to settle into a place of my own. Plant a garden. Let the dog run on more two feet of grass. Paint the walls. The upkeep will be hard, I know, but from where I’m sitting the grass is a hell of a lot greener in home-owner’s world.

My brother is 16. He’s a good kid. Runs cross-country, rebuilds old cars, and stoically suffers as the only recipient of my mother’s chore-nagging. On our family vacation we live in very close quarters. I like to think that I’m a patient person but I find myself yelling at him often. He puts the milk away wrong. Closes the front door too slowly. Walks across the street without enough vigilance.

What the fuck is wrong with me?! No one needs to be corrected on how to walk across the street.

My patience flags so completely when surrounded by family. I can see it but I can’t control it. Maybe that’s the first step: seeing it. If I can just process what I see. What makes me yell? What makes me feel the need to correct my brother? I want to be patient person but even more I want my brother to know me as a patient sister. I’ll try harder.

Even the dog has the patience to wait for this squirrel.

Maybe I can learn from her.

At the North Shore this week. So is this giant moth:

 

The dog has a minor panic attack each time someone leaves the room. If we could all just sit still, she would be fine. She swears. She’s an adaptable pup but she insists on making sure we know she does not like change. Not one bit. My writing, crossfit, running and blogging duties might falter a bit this week but hopefully I’ll eat through a couple of books.

Happy summer, my friends.

My moonflower looked like it was going to bloom yesterday:

 

We checked it every hour. The dog lifted her little paw up to try and help. She’s so damn cute sometimes it nearly makes my heart burst. We even set our alarm for two AM to catch the moonflower off-guard (yes, I’m that kind of nerd). No luck. This morning the bud had folded in on itself like a fat teenager at a middle school dance.

On a better note, as the heat descends on Minneapolis, I had a nice little Sunday run. Maybe my fitness dreams aren’t as derailed as I thought.

When we set up for the WOD yesterday the instructor said very clearly, “Find your pull-up spot. Get a box if you need it. There is enough room for everyone to have their own space.” I’m fairly particular about my placement and assistance needs when it comes to pull-ups so I waited by my spot while some of the other folks found their spots too. Yes, that’s right, some. Why didn’t everyone find a spot? Good fucking question. By the last rounds of the workout there were three other people using my spot on the bar. Turns out, I don’t like to share my toys.

This could have been another moment to project kindness and patience into the world. Good for them, pulling themselves up and such. I didn’t have it in me. I didn’t even have enough oxygen in my brain to count to back from ten.  So I worked faster, tried to shrug my shoulders at the right point and get to the pull-up bar first. And you know what? I came in second.

My irritation breeds strength, you toy-stealing jerks. Boom.

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