Naive

     I despise the word "naïve."  It has been leveled at me, from time to time, by individuals who thought they were helping me in some way.  In reality, when you toss that word around, you're really using your big girl words to insult someone, to put them in their place.  I think that my often enthusiastic nature, coupled with a genuine desire to help people, is often mistaken for a lack of experience, knowledge or general stupidity.  In some parts of my career, I think it's been interpreted as phoniness, but over time, everybody comes to realize my true intent.
     The only way I think I'm at all naïve is that I'm still periodically surprised when I encounter shitty attitudes or actions in humans around me.  I have this Pollyanna philosophy that if you're part of a team, each of the members will want to work together - if not for the greater good, than to at least save face to a superior.  I really want to believe that when you ask for help, when you're encouraged to do so, that someone will actually help you.  Whenever I'm proven wrong, I'm disappointed and sad, and a bit miffed, too. 
     More than for myself though, for my kids.  We've raised them to be kind, generous, loving, helpful ... and they're all that and more.  I worry that the world will take advantage of their kindness, will look down on it.  By providing them a guide to a moral victory, have we left them bereft of reality?
     These musings on a rough couple of days, led to a mama lecture on the true nature of the world during dinner at the Pizzeria Uno's tonight.  Nothing aids your digestion like your mother soberly trying to prepare you for the future.      

Day Trip

     In the city for some meetings:

All four of these beauties on the first train I stepped on.  Followed by the saga of Mr. Saggy Pants:

How low can you go?

Norm

     It has been a long time since I've written a post.  The town I'm working in currently is so idealicly small town New England, that nothing seems to be going on.  Everyone knows each other, knows what the family is doing, knows the kids.  It's like the Stepford Wives.

     There's a little deli a small walk from my store that I grab my lunch at daily.  Nice people.  I say please and thank you, yes ma'am, no sir ... You get the point.  They wrap your sandwich in butcher paper and write the price in grease pencil on the outside.  Homey.  They come to my store every day to do business, as well.  We're all pleasant.  

     Today, when I walked over to get my sandwich (egg salad on dark rye with a little onion), there was a friendly conversation going on with a man already at the counter.  Everybody called him by name, children were discussed, he appeared to be a local coach of some sort.  He even got a sandwich I get sometimes.  He walked to the front, I ordered and followed him with my lunch. 

     At the counter, I noticed that his sandwich was $2 less than mine.  $2 less than I pay for all the sandwiches I've ordered there for almost 2 weeks.  

Traffic

     This mornings commute has been unreal. I haven't gotten 5 miles from my house, and I left an hour ago. I'm a little nervous about how the rest of the trip to work is going to be. I've got 25 more miles to go.

     The radio just told me that the reason my original route didn't work was that a gigantic pothole has opened up somewhere in East Boston that has backed the traffic up for miles and miles. The reason now this direction is backed up is that there's a two car accident.  I miss the train so much.