An encounter with swerving

Witnessed a most confusing traffic scene. In the evening  we were driving on four lane, busy Telegraph Road.

It looked like mass confusion at first glance. The oncoming two lanes of cars were swerving en masse, like a wave. 

Left, right, then halting abruptly. Nearly bumper to bumper. Nobody was honking or upset.

A dozen cars appeared to be slow moving in choreographed formation. 

Then I saw it, a small shaggy little dog running down the road BETWEEN the two oncoming lanes. Drivers were trying to keep it from going into our lane of traffic. A man hopped out and rescued the shaggy, little black and white, dirty, exhausted dog. It was heart warming to witness goodness in action! 

Not this dog but similar.

Then we went to Taco Bell. Three college age guys, one Hispanic, an African American, and a baby-face, chunky, white kid entered wearing backpacks and name badges. The Hispanic guy spoke to an older gentleman waiting at the counter, who either didn't have his hearing aides on or did not speak English.

 "We're not from around here. You must experience winter, what with all those pine trees."

The old guy replied, "They're on the counter."

The dude rolled his eyes. When he sat next to us, I asked if he was from a warm climate. he looked confused, perhaps a bit offended as if I were suggesting Mexico. 

I smiled and told him I'd overheard his conversation about winter. He said, "We're from Ohio." Then he flipped his badge on a lanyard and said, "Working out of Clayton. Hired to obtain signatures to  get three initiatives on the ballot here in Missouri. They pay us VERY well to lead the "sheeple" who don't realize they are being led. Everything in politics is about money and campaign contributions."

I said, "You are young to be learning this lesson. It takes some people years."

He replied, "And some people, NEVER. It's all about what money can buy."

That kid had moxie and a mouth and I can only imagine him on street corners pitching a political agenda, drumming up signatures. Wonder if he walks a straight or crooked line as he moves from place to place.  

The First Line

We have maintained a long distance friendship with a couple who lives in New England. I have known them forty years, since we were neighbors in Alaska. Bill met them twenty-years ago, and the guys hit it off like brothers. We have vacationed together and visited one another's homes for two decades. It is pleasant and fun.

But when the phone rings every Saturday morning, either on our end here in St. Louis or in Boston, I know exactly what the first line is going to be depending on which of our husbands initiated the call. "Those damned Republicans/Democrats!"

The good old boys have been on the phone for half an hour debating poiltics, jabbing one another, one upping the other guy, raising their voices. It's like a weekly jolt of adrenaline for them. By the end of their conversation, they almost sound concillatory, and I chuckle at their spat. I envision these two codgers walking a tight rope, arms outstretched straddling the political fence, trying their damndest not to splat on the wrong side.

My vision for humanity: outstretched arms prepared for a warm greeting, instead of fists balled, words snarled, punches hurled because of another person's political party, sexual persausion, ethnicity, religion ... My hope is for peace across the world.

Now, I have an offering for you writers. Check out The First Line Literary Magazine and see what you can do with this first line: Paul and Miriam Kaufman met the old fashioned way.

No entry fee and they pay $20 and copy of the book if your entry wins. What have you got to lose? Deadline May 1st.

Do a random act of kindness today. Hug someone unexpectedly. Say something positive. A smile is like a yawn.