There are days and weeks and months when I am pretty sure I’m going to go full-blown curmudgeon.  

Michelle would say to me “Don’t look now” as she usually does when I make a comment about my weight or getting in shape or getting old. She does it with humor, of course.

She’s a barrel of laughs, that woman.

No matter how hard I try to retreat, at times, into an isolated world where I don’t have to deal with my judgmental thoughts or my control freakishness, I am forced into the world that I actually live in: one that involves getting along with people.

Now, I like being around people, and when I’m in my right mind, I find joy in almost all of the ones I encounter. But let’s face it, when you don’t have conversations with God every day, pray some, read His word some, you get sidetracked.  That’s true for me, at least.  I can find myself in a total environment of people who get on my nerves and irritate me to the nth degree.

There are times I drive around the town I spent three decades in and turn up my nose at all of the entitlement, the snootiness, the we-think-we-are-superior vibe that many of the people embody. Then I start thinking about how poor manners and social ineptness run rampant around here, and the old adage “you can’t buy class” comes to mind.

So, look at me.  Turning up my nose at low-class snootiness. Go figure.

Then, of course, I am ashamed of myself and think I’m a terrible person.  Battling oneself is often the biggest battle. How in the world can you like or indeed, love most people one minute and want to go live in a cave the next minute? How can you judge an entire community of people, yet when you get right down to it, the people you are thinking about when you are grumpy only amount to a handful? 

I have these little talks with myself all the time, and I believe God talks to us while we are talking to ourselves.

I am a firm believer in talking to ourselves. Out loud.  Who cares if people stare?

So, as I’ve told you, I’m still adjusting to being retired. It still feels like I’m fresh out of college, not knowing what the heck I’m doing, and trying to get a hold on what my direction is and should be. I feel like I’m in my early 20s again, not feeling equipped or mature enough to do what everyone is asking. It gets a little depressing sometimes.  

The bad part is, I can no longer eat an entire pizza like I used to when I got depressed or misguided. I can’t do it, but I sure think about it.

I never once thought about heartburn back in those days.

Digressing, as usual.

Anyway, I’m in full-blown curmudgeon mode about two weeks ago. I’m talking about sitting on my front porch, scowling at people and ranting and raving about every little thing. It felt as though I had dealt with juvenile, self-centeredness, and basically asinine behavior for a good length of time (most likely my own) in addition to the general craziness that the world seems to be involved in lately. I’d just had enough.

So I’m driving down the street, thinking about how things are just out of whack and blaming it all on the condition of the people’s hearts, the state of the world, poor parenting, and on and on.  

Ebenezer Scrooge in July.

A couple of little guys were sitting on their bikes, on the sidewalk, getting ready to cross at the crosswalk. They had backpacks, helmets, and all the gear on.  But, my first thought was “Why are these kids out on their own? Who’s watching them? Bah! Humbug.”

Still, I slowed down and did what I was supposed to at the crosswalk, as did the driver on the other side.  Just as the last kid was crossing in front of my car, he turned and looked me straight in the eye and mouthed the words “Thank you.”

This was a young kid.  This was a kid living in the environment I’m usually ranting about. This was a kid being raised by a generation of parents I’m constantly (and wrongly) judging most of the time.  

Thanks for letting us cross the street, sir.

Amazing how a small thing like that can crack the exterior of a crabby old cuss like me.