Mistaken Identity

I know she didn't mean anything by it. They were simply honest mistakes, which I'm sure the woman doing the readings at Mass that one Sunday didn't even realize she was doing. By the same token, it was all very, very distracting.

The readings involved the apostles Paul and Barnabas travelling around Asia Minor spreading the Gospel. That's all well and good. But the reader kept saying it was Paul and Barabbas.

Barabbas of course is who the crowd demanded rather than Jesus when Pontius Pilate was trying to appease their wrath immediately prior to the Crucifixion. 

I cannot begin to tell you the amount of personal discipline it took me, who was suddenly becoming a giggling preteen, to keep his cool. The woman would say Paul and Barabbas, and I would sit in the pew having to bite my tongue to not laugh. Then she said again, Paul and Barabbas, and I thought, of course, Barnabas. It's Barnabas, dear woman. Barnabas.

Ten seconds later she revealed that Paul and Barabbas were preaching in Antioch and Cappadocia. And I would have to stifle a laugh. Again.

There weren't many people in that large Church and let me tell you, a quick stifled laugh which sounded like a painful stifled sneeze rather echoes under such circumstances. I just know a couple folks turned around to find the source of the sound which might have been a startled animal but was rather an old man trying desperately not to regress to 11. Of course I then had to hear one more time about the good works of Paul and Barabbas. 

I was squinting my eyes shut and holding my hand over my mouth by that point. Then I began to lurch towards the opposite impulse of laughing out loud. I wanted to stand up and shout, "Paul and Barnabas! It's Paul and Barnabas, for crying out loud!" 

Thankfully the organ began playing. The child in me finally left. Or at least his guffaws were drowned out.

Distractions

I had a box in my front hall yesterday which I wanted to take to the Shop. But I walked out of the house and into my new old van and drove off without it.

Heavy, disgruntled sigh. I loop the block and park in front of the house and get out of the van. 

My cell rings. I take the call, start chatting with an old friend on the other end, walk up onto the porch, unlock the door, and step inside the house. The conversation goes on another minute or two and we hang up.

Putting the phone in my pocket, I take out my keys, head out the door, lock it, and get back in the van heading towards the old barn. Without the box.

Heavier, disgruntleder sigh. 

I went back home. I did not forget the box a third time. 

Stick to the Plan

I have every intention of making this coming week a great week. I will stay on task, working and writing and being productive. Pay attention to schedule, concentrate, and keep a laser focus: that's what I'll do. This is going to be a good, solid week where I accomplish all my...

Hey! It's that episode of Dragnet where they crack down on unethical tow truck drivers. That's a good one.

What was I saying?

Riddle Me This

Are there more bad drivers these days, or do we just notice them more as we have more years of driving experience behind us? I don't know the answer. But I know I see a lot of bad driving.

Some of it, no doubt, is that too many folks are readily distracted. Three times this past week alone I've had to tap my horn because the driver in front of me hadn't moved several seconds after the light had changed. I've even driven around cars which can't seem to obey green lights. Put your phone down, honey.

Yesterday on the freeway as I motored along in the right lane I was passed by a car in the center lane. No surprise there, right? Yet I noticed his signal on; his left blinker in fact. Okay, he wanted to change lanes. Only he soon moved into the right lane despite the left indicator clearly displaying the opposite intent. What's worse, he inexplicably stopped at the top of the next exit smack in the middle of the ramp. No coasting as though the engine had died: bright brake lights came on and he virtually parked with no attempt to jump onto the shoulder. I could have plowed right into him if I hadn't noticed. What up with that?

I swerved around him as I had no time to stop. It didn't help that the driver at the bottom of the ramp was another nitwit who couldn't figure out what green meant.

So: more bad drivers or simply a bad Saturday morning out and about for yours truly? I'm not sure, and the other drivers aren't helping me figure it out.