Skip to main content

My Pet Peeves


Saturday, as I stood at track meet next to another 'Shot Put Mom'. Awaiting her son to throw. Keeping our volume low. I remarked, "You know what my main three pet peeves are?" She angled her head towards me. I nodded. "Um..." She responded, "You forgot your pet peeves?"

We giggled. And then I replied, "Good God I have so many. It's not three." We cynically scoffed in synchronization. Whereas tailgating raced through my mind. People who don't use their blinkers.

I slowly arrived at, "People who roll through stop signs. People not picking up after their dogs. And you don't cross a track while an event is being run. But what's got me now, are the loud talkers when a guy's going to throw. Like seriously, you have no respect? Definitely cigarette smoking." I then mind my volume, "Oh, I have so many."  

A guy is getting to throw... a minute later... my mind relaxes in between videoing throws, timing kids on the track, watching forms as hurdlers leap over obstacles. My pet peeves weave their way into the right side of my mind... They lay dormant, as I imagine them resting, waiting for an attack just oblique of my right temple. No one sees them. My pet peeves laying in wait that is. But I hear them knocking. Ready to yell, 'No more filtering!' One ebbs and flows... into the unfiltered vicinity. 

I calm it down and let it ride in my mind. 'It's the damn illegal cell phone use while driving. Or just too much of it while driving. I really don't care if it's hands free. It's just inappropriate. No one is that important.' Then my brain relaxes as I soak up the sun timing kids. 

A couple of them finish, leaning over the fence near me and puke a foot away from where I stand. I giggle. Looking at a kid from an opposing team. He looks at me. The dark skinned young man of Indonesian descent, nods politely. He holds his hands as if in prayer. Looking me straight in the eye. He bows a little, then remarks. "I'm good." I respond smiling. "Thank you so much, young man." I digress. 

Tuesday I receive a long-distance call from long time friend, Non-Stop Nina. During our at least hour long conversation. For we hadn't spoken in probably a year. We email, snail mail, mostly for now. It's been almost thirty years every week.   

We begin to talk about miracles. Then I blurt out. "Ah haha! That is my biggest pet peeve. Nina, it's 'People who don't acknowledge miracles'..." -Jody-Lynn Reicher 


Popular posts from this blog

It Follows Me...

One may wonder what would inspire someone to work hard labor voluntarily. For me it’s the love of many things. It’s the passion that won’t be broken. Because there are so many aspects to such service for me, that it may seem beyond comprehension. I’d compare it to my youthful desire to enter the military as a young child. Then for a multitude of reasons only to follow through thirteen years later at age eighteen entering the Marines. There were things that followed me throughout my life. Sometimes they were questions of how I ever gave up my over decade’s life dream to become a New Jersey State Trooper. My childhood desire to never wed—to never have any serious relationships with another human being. I desired only service in military and law enforcement nearly my whole childhood. Too the extent that even one of my Marine Corps superiors expressed to me last July, “I never thought you’d ever get married. It just wasn’t who you were. You were always a loner.” I replied, “Yeah. I know.

Sledging the Hammer

  "You could have a steam trainIf you'd just lay down your tracks..."---Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer' lyrics. This is not the tune that lay in my mind this morning as I reminisced about yesterday's volunteers to help on trail crew.    However, as I looked up the proper definition of sledging that song popped up. I say sledging, which is my own take on swinging a hammer that we call a "Double Jack". The Single Jack is six pounds. I know that because our regular crew of five including me and one staff supervisor are handling Harriman State Park Trails, and have to carry about four of those, two shaping hammers, along with a hoist, belay bag with heavy equipment, first aid kit, double Jack, three 18lb rock bars, a lopper, three buckets, three eye to eyes, two burlap straps, two green wrapping straps, two pick Mattox, a roe hoe or two, a bar for either the two ton or one ton hoist, the feathers with pegs for splitting rocks that we drill... s

Death in the Distant Future...

  Death in the Distant Future… Or at least that is what its supposed to be. We don’t suppose people should die at a certain age. We will witness suffering; but we know it gets better. So, we’ve been told. Or so, we have hope that it will. There are instances of mass tragedy. Sometimes we call that war—maybe insanity—perhaps terrorism… We have names for it, that type of death. Then there are the terminals. Things we think we can control—once we know the enemy within.   Or things we follow, pray for, aim for. We hold hands for it. Or we choose to suffer with the suffering because it matters. And it doesn’t matter how it matters. Then there is some form of Universal Order. A tainted weird line of fate. Perhaps mathematically calculated in everyone’s existence. No matter how great, how menial a life on earth may appear there’s a geometric wave—a pattern. We can involve other mathematical ideologies—Fibonacci, perhaps. And each of our lives are formulas. Formulas appearing misundersto