Oh, I know. It’s that time of year: Love is in the air, strawberries are in chocolate and Hallmark is in the black. But sometimes people just irk me.
As an adolescent, I used to tell my mother that when I grew up, I was going to live in a log cabin in the middle of the woods with no one around for miles. I found social obligations and etiquette abhorrent, and people — who all too frequently seemed to act with a mob mentality — stupid in general.
Yeah, I was a little arrogant, but I abandoned the log cabin plan some time ago, opting instead to live in one of the most densely populated parts of Portland with my husband, two children and our bothersome — but lovable — cat. Still, at times, I find myself longing for that cabin in the woods. Like, for instance, when I listened to a recent Republican debate and heard Mitt Romney say, more than once, “Abso-no-way.”
That’s right. Abso-no-way. As in some kind of verbal shorthand for “Absolutely no way.”
I’m sorry. But after nearly eight years of “misunderestimating” the “mexed missages” of our current “decider” (yes, he actually used all three of those terms), I hardly think we need another president who creates his own words. And as it turns out, we won’t have one. Romney dropped out of the race last week and will abso-no-way be our next “commander guy.”
But ex-presidential candidates aren’t the only people who perturb me. I get irritated by lots of folks: Drivers who idle outside my house, the bass from their car stereos rattling my windows; tabloid writers who insist any woman larger than a size 2 is sporting a “baby bump”; journalists who seem incapable of reporting stories that haven’t been through the spin cycle at least twice; and people who talk on their cell phones at volumes that remove the element of choice from eavesdropping. But my frustration with humanity isn’t pure peevishness on my part; my Myers-Briggs type is also to blame.
Throughout my life I’ve straddled the line between “Introvert” and “Extrovert,” scoring so closely between the two on an assessment in college that I landed in the “E” camp by a margin of just one point — a point that on another day may just as easily have landed in the other column. Either way, I seem to require equal parts extroversion and introversion in my life, but as a mom, I can tell you that time to myself is hard to come by. And, when my “I” time is severely lacking, my “E” virtually disappears. I get grouchy and petulant, and I don’t want to be around anyone, making that log cabin in the woods seem like an attractive idea once again.
Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll actually have a woodland retreat; my husband and I have talked of building a yurt near the mountains. But in truth, I love living in the heart of Portland. And when I’ve had enough time to myself, I even love all of the people. From the man down the road who sits on his porch all summer long and yells at passersby, to the children who occasionally wake me up in the morning to tell me my cat wants to come inside, they all possess a certain individualism that charms and delights me — provided my “E” and my “I” are in balance.
And though on my surlier days I may view it as a colossal waste of paper, I especially enjoy the “Valentine Bandit” who plasters the peninsula with red hearts under the cover of darkness.
Maybe this year I’ll take a quiet walk through town to appreciate them all, and after a cup of coffee and a few minutes to read in peace, I’ll have plenty of love to shower upon my Valentines. Even the cat.
Belinda Ray is a homeschooling mother and freelance writer who finds time to write when her children and their friends have lightsaber battles in the yoga room (but only if the laundry is already folded and everyone’s been fed).