Old Sayings

There are two sayings that I associate with my Uncle Gene. I thought about both of them tonight. First, Uncle Gene used to say, "I know a bunch of horses’ asses, but not all of them are horses." That pretty much describes me tonight. I was horse’s ass. Yep, I acted badly. I hate that. I just couldn’t seem to help myself. The more I opened my mouth the worse it got. I tried to leave, but Jan was concerned about me and wanted to talk. Not smart. I know myself well. I just needed to go – get the heck out of Dodge before I let both barrels fly. I needed time to get myself under control. Poor Jan, he had good intentions.

The other saying was not my Uncle Gene’s, but was said about him. Fred Jaramillo was crusty old gent – he often said, "That Gene A…! He thinks he knows everything, but he don’t know chit!" That would describe how I felt about others tonight. People bossing me around, but they don’t know chit. I don’t do well with those sorts. Things surface in me better left buried.

I do have an occasional problem with authority. I will admit it. First, if you are going to tell me what to do, you better darn well know what you are talking about. Second, you better be willing to follow your own advice. Third, you better treat everyone the same way. If you don’t, you will lose my respect, I will question your authority, and probably not follow your lead or advice next time you offer it.

So I played volleyball tonight. Last week I was irritated when a certain player told me how to play, but did not hold to the same standards. He is a ball hog, which puts him on my short list. He is a nice guy, but. Tonight the Piper joined in the "instruction" on volleyball strategy. You know I love the Piper, so I am a bit more tolerant where he is concerned. But the strategy sucks. Why now? Why not the other games I played in? When did this become the way to play? And why the heck did you not instruct others on the team who were also oblivious to said strategy? My irritation from last week spilled over into this week. Okay, I played with the Ball Hog months ago, and he pissed me off then, too, by giving instruction, which he did not hold to himself. To top it off, tonights "instructions" countered those of last week's. What's up with that?

So tonight my feelings were running hot. I was beyond talking; I was to cussing. I hate that. In my younger days and another life ago, I would not have gotten mad. I would have gotten even. I wanted to take someone out. I needed to go. I needed to die to self. I did not need to "talk it out" with Jan. Poor Jan. He followed me outside saying, "We can talk." I told him "may" and "can" are different words. I know Jan thought I was being an ass, but the truth was, I was still holding back. I have grown up a bit.

"It’s just a game," he said. Oh yeah, if it were just a game, then why weren't we just playing? Why doesn't someone tell John to move back when he plays up? Why doesn’t someone tell Travis to quit hogging the ball and set it up? Why is it so important to tell me how to play?

I play a lot of volleyball, but obviously I cannot play with this league. It takes away my peace.

About two hours before tonight's volleyball game, Ranger the Rat Terrier went through a barbed wire fence and cut his ear nearly off. Blood went every where. I staunched the flow of blood and held him all the way to town. I held him in my arms while the vet gave him a shot to knock him out so he could then sew the ear up. But the vet made me leave Ranger on the table - cold and stiff. I cried all the way home. Can I please just hit someone? I will only use my left hand (as my cousin used to say).