Thursday, June 17, 2010

Eggs Act

Yesterday evening I sat on the deck watching a gaggle of children run back and forth across the field. Then I heard it, just as clearly as if it was 1970 and I was eight years old again. "Last one there is a rotten egg!" They all screeched and put on the speed, racing toward the swings. I thought, with a smile, "These kids have no idea how many generations that came before them have used that same idiom."

Last one there is a rotten egg. How clearly that bell peals, even now.

I was always, always the rotten egg. Not only was I not a runner, even back then, but I never saw the huge need for hurrying. Plus, (face it Barbara Ann) I never thought I had a snowball's chance on a barbecue of winning, or even getting there ahead of anyone else. It was easier to hang back and feign indifference. To this day, I don't know if it was apathy or self-preservation. Both, likely. I've tried to convince myself that I'm the tortoise of the fabled tortoise and hare race - definitely faster of wit than foot. Although I never felt like a loser, I also never felt like a winner. Give me a spelling bee over a foot race, and it's fresh omelettes all around... just sayin'.

Not much has changed there. I take the same slow approach to all goals that I always have. If I get there, I get there... either way, I'm taking my time on the journey. No point in rushing about and ending up ass over tea kettle down some slippery slope into a ditch. Of course, this is in direct opposition to my generally impatient I-Want-It-Now attitude. I was a strange child. I still am.

Last one there is a rotten egg.

It doesn't mean you won't eventually get there. If it's all the same, I'd rather show up later than sooner... cracked, grass-stained & dirt-speckled, oozing stink, and completely useless in the end... but there, and satisfied that I paid attention to the journey.


1 comment:

  1. Once again, we were seperated at birth (by only ten years & two uteruses).


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.