As I stood outside under the blazing sun waiting for the Blue Angels to skim over our house in preparation for Seafair, I pondered how much patience is required to capture a good shot, especially if the subject matter is moving at almost the speed of sound. In the quiet of the nearby nature preserve, I’ve seen photographers using tripods waiting for an unusual bird to land on a nearby tree for hours.
Determined to catch the jets in flight, I’d brought my camera, a pen and paper to make notes on an article I’m writing, and our house phone outside with me. I was expecting an important telephone call. I stood in the sweltering sunshine for five or 10 minutes. The phone rang just as one Blue Angel passed overhead. What to do? Grab my camera or phone?
I needed to speak to this person so I scrambled into the house. As I chatted, I heard but couldn’t see the sleek jets fly in formation. I usually avoid loud noises, but I appreciate their precision. By the time my telephone call had finished, the Blue Angels had vanished. I’d missed my photo op.
I consider myself a patient person. When our two sons’ many friends came over I rarely got rattled the way some mothers did. I tried to entertain them as honored guests, but ran a tight ship. My husband enjoyed them too, especially at our island cabin, where the boys could pretty much run free all day.
I admit there are a few instances when I get annoyed. One is when I have a doctor’s appointment and the practitioner is chronically late. Once, I was literally forgotten in an exam room; the staff was quite surprised to find me waiting. This was many years ago and since then I’ve left doctors’ offices because I couldn’t tolerate waiting anymore.
I’m far from perfect, but strive for punctuality. Hard to do when traffic is a gridlock or if you’re stuck behind a city bus that won’t pull over when stopping to pick up riders.
Living in the city, a person could spend their whole day in a state of impatience, what with rush-hour traffic, stop-lights, long lines at the grocery store. Often labeled the rat race.
As an author I try to keep my impatience from surfacing. I prod myself out of bed each morning to write. And rewrite, in preparation for a publishing house, which will most likely demand more editing. And a Deadline. (Notice the capital D.) Writing is not for the faint at heart.
What makes me impatient? With a local election approaching, a never ending stream of Robocalls bombard us. How can I handle the constant calls from recorded messages? Since I just had my credit card stolen again I’m not about to answer personal questions to the many solicitors claiming they’re conducting a survey.
Anything in Amish Country make you impatient? How about if you’re stuck driving behind a slow-moving horse and buggy? My husband and I thoroughly enjoy the leisurely pace of Lancaster County, PA., even awaiting our turn at one-way bridges.
Do you think the Amish get impatient at times? I figure my Old Order Amish friend was last week when her phone shanty flooded and her answering device wouldn’t work for three days. How do you think the Amish deal with impatience?
What makes you impatient? Have you found a method to help yourself when irritation sets in?
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