Take today, for example.
New Englanders might suspect that it's early spring the way it keeps raining... and raining ... and raining. In no mood to go to the store, I realize that I probably should if my son intends to eat this evening. I sprint across the puddle-riddled parking lot, through the drenching, cold rain, then hem and haw far too long over what to cook for dinner.
I don't want to use the self-check-out line because something goes wrong every time I use it, and I'm getting a great deal on chicken today. No way am I taking any chances that the coupon won't compute. I slide into line behind a charming elderly gentleman. We chat for a few moments, then he motions to the front window through which we watch the rain pour down from the sky and flood down from the sidewalk overhang.
"We're gonna need a bigger boat," he laughs. Indeed.
Earlier today I attend a somewhat contentious meeting, a continuation of yesterday's other somewhat contentious meeting. I am trying really hard not to say anything out loud because everyone in the room knows that when I speak, I usually do so with pruning shears and a hack saw. Occasionally, I use an axe, and every once in a while I go right for the bucket of acid, but today I am trying to show some restraint.
Namaste, I repeat silently over and over again. Namaste, namaste, NAMASTE.
I listen to the other voices in the room, the other input, the other output. Finally, I cannot stand it any longer, or perhaps my mouth and brain simply cannot remain disengaged for this long period of time. Five times I try to speak, and each time someone else beats me to it.
"At the risk," I say loudly, "of being a fatalist ... much like Slim Pickens riding the bomb at the end of Dr. Strangelove ..." I glance around. The science teacher starts swinging an imaginary lasso. "What happens if this whole program should crash and burn?"
Yup, this is my not-so-subtle way of telling the attendees that the proposal in front of us risks not merely crashing and burning; it risks crashing and burning on a huge scale, an epic way, an incendiary and nuclear way.
However, and I mean this in all honesty, if any team of people can pull off a miracle, it is this group, my people, my immediate co-workers. There are times, though, that I feel like Major Kong when the airplane trap doors open and I'm yelling, "Wooooohooooooo!" the whole way to the crater.
For now, though, I'll steal a television quote and simply smile. "Make it work," I tell myself quietly. Just make it work.
