The country road crew has an ambitious project before them. So much road repair and only a small window of perfect weather in which to do it.
These are hard working professionals. Their equipment is top notch. They have decades of experience bewteen them on each road crew. Fact.
This morning as I drove past this sign I could not resist sharing it with you. Road orange spray paint on the back of an unused road sign: BUMP.
You’d think the county would have prepared plenty of BUMP signs – given the nature of the jobs the crews are undertaking. But no. Apparently not.
Directional signs are readily available in polished, nifty versions. Warning signs? Not so much.
So thanks go out to the county worker who did what s/he could with the materials that are available. It slowed me this morning. Made me pause and drive more thoughtfully. I avoided the jarring impact of unexpectedly unpaved road thanks to this makeshift sign.
This is what I offer you here. This is the underscore of my life’s work. I grab what materials are available and scribble, spray paint, post, write, mark the most recent warning I perceive. BUMP. Most assuredly there will be bumps. On every road, in every direction. I am grateful for the workers who do their best to mark out warning signs for me. And perhaps you, today, can pause to spray paint a much needed warning sign for a traveler who will come after you. What might that sign say? I really want to know – what does your warning sign for today say?
Perfectly expressed by my fellow writer, Ellen Lambert (who blogs at EllenOutLoud at Braveheartwomen.com) I woke up hearing the words, “Children don’t like it when their parents fight.” Ellen captures this sentiment perfectly.
I grew up in a family where the parent people fought all the time. All the time. It was habitual. It was constant. It was distressing, disturbing, and annoying. Nothing was ever resolved; no conclusions were ever drawn. The current debt-ceiling debate is giving me flashbacks.
Maybe it’s because I was raised around it, but I am not a big fan of bickering. I loathe name-calling. I abhor baseless rhetoric.
I do, however, adore a good debate. I sure wish we could have one.
Between the finger-pointing, blaming, and pouting I just wish the Great Playground Monitor would call a big recess to recess and send all the squabbling brats and bullies to time-out or home, it makes me no difference
I never had the power to get my arguing progenitors to stop. I do remember asking them to. Yesterday I asked my representatives in Washington to do the same. I used to tell my parents that they had to stop behaving so stupidly; they were supposed to be taking care of me. I reminded my Senators and Congress people of that too.
Yes, all the juvenile posturing and gesturing does remind me of a time when I never had a say in things, but now that I do? Oh, I intend to make my voice heard. Out loud.
Speak up, and Soldier on!