My peeve today involves another gripe (on my part) about the leadership quality (in America). This morning I got up at an insane hour (but usual for me), and got showered and dressed, ready to go to the annual town festivities, which include a pancake breakfast and patriotic program (starting, according to the website at 7.a.m.) Oddly, there was conflicting information if you looked at things another way. And a third option if all that wasn’t confusing enough. The start time was either 7 a.m., 7:30 a.m. or 8 a.m. The YEAR on all of the notices was 2022. The website for my little town is a mess.
Ziggy and I tootled off to go scarf under or over done pancakes, scrambled eggs, either sausage or bacon (I never know which, but it’s all good because that part is for Ziggy anyway), a watered down cup of orange juice and a carton of milk if one wants it.
It’s not Cordon Bleu but the point (for me) is the SOCIALIZATION. Big frickin’ hairy deal if you’re me because I don’t do it enough (apparently). The feeling of community and so forth is huge. Covid was a nasty b*tch, but has been put in its proper place and besides I have masks. I’ll use them too. So this year, besides being a beautiful day, was special because the social barriers because of Covid had mainly been lifted.
The other, more important part to me is the Patriotic Program which starts at 8 a.m. What passes for marching music by the H.S. local band, the flag is hoisted by old men in uniforms that it’s a bit of a shock they still fit into. There are no more Boy Scouts, but some youth from the various churches (I guess) are pressed into helping. They play the Star Spangled Banner, and used to pray (although I’m not sure that’s done any more. Political correctness has won that battle). That little program always left me feeling uplifted. Hopeful. Things I don’t feel much any more due to the massive bad news all the time phenomenon that has hit America really hard.
Shows what you get if you do your own thinking.
I arrived at about 7:30 a.m. Crickets chirped. People walked their dogs. The usual gang of idiots who hang out in the park on a normal day did their thing. Nobody anywhere seemed to be bustling around getting food ready to feed a town. No music, no old Military guys still proud to have served and not afraid to show it.
I finally found a guy that works at the local swimming pool and asked him “What the hey?” He said he didn’t know what was going on, but that if they were going to host the program, they’d have been setting up before this.
I found some City workers in a truck and asked them the same question. “Oh wasn’t that cancelled again this year?” said one.
The year we sorely need some community feeling, some comradery, some hope for a better day tomorrow, is busted. The opportunity for local leaders to bring us together as a town has been cancelled. I’m not sure if those same leaders are still afraid of Covid or if they’re merely absent, spending their long weekend at some expensive resort (courtesy of the taxpayers) in the mountains, where petty things like home town events are the furthest thing from thought.
I am disappointed. But. It’s just one more shitty thing that’s happened in what is shaping up to be a really shitty year. What did I expect really? Too much as usual apparently.
I knew I had TWO peeves, but after the diatribe about the lack of community spirit, I’d forgotten the second one. Paula, our lovely hostess for The Monday Peeve, to the rescue! I read her post and *click* there was my peeve back in the brain. It echoes to a degree Paula’s peeve too.
Since Friday night there have been booms, bangs, high pitched shrieking whistles, yelling, screeching and enough racket to bring back the dead. Okay. But do they have to be so freakin’ LOUD? Friday I wasn’t prepared for it, and as mentioned in another post I wrote earlier, neither of us got any good sleep because that stuff freaks Ziggy out and he spends the night shivering and trying to climb under me where it might be safe. Clearly that can’t happen, so he tosses and turns and whimpers and gets more terrified with each new noise.
I get it that it’s time for celebration. I’m okay with that, within reason. Put a cap on the time those $%#!@ air rockets and fireworks, exploding whistling useless bits of paper and gunpowder (I suppose) and all the rest of that crap is allowed to be set off. Midnight does not seem unreasonable as a cap. Nobody reliable is awake anyway (IMO), but the party hosts and noise makers (who most likely are stoned or drunk off their ass) and those folk ought to be fined at least or do some jail time if they insist the party must go on like it’s 1999 or some garbage like that. And the folks trying to sleep or with nervous pets, PTSD, or anything that is triggered by all that racket could relax. Most folks can make it to midnight. I doze off myself, but I can do midnight as a end time for disturbance.
Remember it isn’t just the four footed that are sometimes traumatized by what to others is merely a pretty display and fun. Who doesn’t like blowing stuff up like that (besides me for one)? There are military people, people who have lived through some horrific trauma, the chronic insomniac, the pet owner and others for which that pretty display is a torture visited on them in the guise of celebrating.
REMEMBER AND BE THOUGHTFUL