I'm usually inspired by the Red Room's suggested blog topics. Not so much lately. I'm sure it's just me. I usually blog when I have something to say, something I want to get out somewhere and so you, gentle reader, are stuck with my ramblings. Or not. Your choice.
I was nearly inspired by one last month asking us, during Black History Month, to write about our favorite book by a black, or African-American, author. I forget how it was phrased. I thought about it. And then it made me cranky. When I'm reading I don't consider the author's color, or nationality. I either like their work or I don't. That sort of prejudice doesn't enter into it. My mother would have been deeply ashamed of me if it did. She raised me better than that. So, there was nearly a diatribe about how offensive I found that. Yes, people should be proud of their accomplishments but leave me out of choosing my favorite author of color or country or religion, etc.
So, I'm sitting here, in a coffee shop with free WiFi, trying to finish a column. Why, you may ask yourself, am I blogging instead of trying to make my deadline? Good question! Hence the reason for my blog post. Or rant. Or whatever you want to call it.
I frequently come here to work because it's easier to concentrate. Usually. I find that the best way to work since fibromyalgia has invaded my body and my life, is to take myself away from my usual surroundings so I can concentrate in peace. It seems that peace is not part of today's equation. I was just getting my coffee (and a bagel if you must know) when three men arrived with a crying baby. Yes, that's right, Three Men and a Baby. No joke. They have finished their coffee, the kid now has a bottle in her mouth, and they are speaking loudly. No, I'm not eavesdropping. A dead person could hear them. And they're speaking a foreign language. Probably Portuguese but don't quote me. It could be anything.
This is not McDonald's. I don't expect loudly screaming babies and frankly, I don't care if you think it's wonderful that this child has men caring for her instead of women. The end result is it's hard to tell who is blasting in louder decibels - the men or the kid.
And while I'm on the subject, why do people with babies always look around and smile at you as if their child's ear-splitting sounds should be music to everyone else's ear? My days of finding babies charming are pretty much over. There's a reason why I don't take my laptop to fast-food places designed for famiies.
Ahhhh, I think they're leaving. Could it be that I will have peace? Blessed peace? And quiet?
Yes! Out the door. Gone. Let the writing commence!
Causes Darlene Arden Supports
The Marcia Polimer Abrams Fund for Canine Behavior Studies at the AKC Canine Health Foundation