Warning Signs a Danger

People manage to read road signs every day without slowing down
the car. Driving requires we multi-task. We speed-read every time we are behind the wheel. What is it about those yellow flashing overhead warning signs on the highway that cause drivers to slam on the breaks to read: “Right Lane closed ahead 1 mile”

I don’t really see the need for many of these warnings. Traveling
60 miles per hour, in the left lane, I am not going to choose a different route in the next mile. Is the purpose to alert folks of
the lane closure, so they can merge over early to prepare?
That never happens.

Instead, drivers hit the breaks, to get a good read. Causing sudden pace-changes on otherwise clear roads, these warning signs are a danger. Rubber-necking, slowed progress, back ups and occasional fender-benders result.

It’s a yellow blinking sign, it must be important.

Occassionally, the Dept of Transportation tries to use these signs
to serve a a greater public purpose. My personal favorite is:
“Don’t Drink and Drive.” What am I supposed to do with this information? “Honey, pull over – I just remembered, you’re not supposed to drink and drive.”

Can I ask drivers a favor? If the warning reads “Amber Alert,” by all means, slow down to get a good long read. Otherwise, keep moving please.

The Leprechaun in All of Us

St. Patrick’s Day is a high holy holiday for the Irish, and the Irish at heart. Yesterday was no exception.

Most days, I enjoy the solitude of owning my own small business.

But yesterday, I missed working in an office full of people. I had no co-workers for my traditional St. Patrick’s Day lunch at the Pub, so I opted for a workout instead.

Wearin-o-the-green abounded at the gym, where I was greeted by a gal with green feather headgear. Not exactly the same as lunch at the Pub, but at least the Irish spirit was alive here.

What is it about St. Patrick’s Day that brings out the leprechaun in all of us? People unite and embrace a common culture. Regardless of their heritage, they wear green. They smile. They toast. They sing Irish songs - songs they do not know the words to. Belly up to the bar, they chat with strangers.

We could all use more days during the year when we are united, carefree, and friendly. A monthly St. Patricks Day would do a us all some good.

This good ole Irish gal did make it to the Pub yesterday - dinner, Harp, chats with strangers and authentic Irish music. (to which I remembered most of the words)

I wish you a Happy St. Patrick’s Day every day.

When Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure it's like a morning spring.

In the lilt of Irish laughter,

You can hear the angels sing.

When Irish hearts are happy,

All the world seems bright and gay.

And when Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure, they steal your heart away.

That Alice in Wonderland Feeling

Spring, for many, is a steady, comforting feeling, like the return of an old friend. Flowers and trees awaken from their winter slumber, emitting buds and blooms. Birds return from southern climates, happily chirping in our trees.

This year in Baltimore, the arrival of Spring conveys a different emotion: Confusion. March is typically heralded as the month that “comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.” We completed that directive last week alone. Monday, it snows. Schools close. Planned activities cancel. Flights delay. Tuesday, we dig out. Wednesday, the roads are safe again. Thursday, we yearn for Spring. Friday – poof – It’s here! Sunny skies, warm breezes, 73 degrees.

What does rest of the month have in store for us? Today, the forecast is snow flurries. Add in the time change this week for daylight savings time, Baltimore is just a mess. Where am I?
I feel like Alice in Wonderland.

The lesson for March is “expect the unexpected.” Seems like Mother Nature is in tune with the state of our economy.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Arriving home from a business trip, a pile of newspapers were sure to greet me on the front lawn. My teen would not have thought to pick up the daily unsolicited papers in my absence.

Imagine my surprise as I pulled up and eyed the barren lawn. Clearly, I had misjudged my daughter. (They grow up so quickly, don’t they?) Tossing aside my suitcase, I settled on the sofa with a glass of wine to end my busy week. Finding nothing of interest on TV, I searched for a newspaper, to extract a crossword puzzle or Sudoku. Surprise. No newspapers in the basket in the living room. I peaked outside, perhaps I had missed them. Nope.

The non-stop delivery, for which I did not pay and had oft requested the distributor cease, had indeed finally stopped. Why? I do not know. I imagine, this is a result of our current economic times - scaled back deliveries, publishers going out of business.

Some mornings, I miss the daily newspapers littering my lawn. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. Could be, I enjoyed the exercise. The squats, the toe-touches, the fresh air, inherent in rounding up 2 or 3 papers a day, were part of my daily routine. Could be, I fear I will run out of those little plastic sleeves papers are delivered in. All dog owners know, these are ideal for the collection and disposal of doggy droppings.

I am glad to know some things never change. My teen did not pick up the newspapers in my absence. Imagine my surprise if that event had occurred. I might have fallen off my chair and broke a toe or something.