How much do I hate to wait? How much do YOU hate to wait? If you truly don’t mind seemingly nonsensical waiting, in traffic, lines, at offices, etc., then you may wish to skip today’s post!

Of course, no one likes to wait – and today, with all the instant gratification lurking in everyone’s lives, there is little need to do so. Sometimes, however, in spite of being able to connect almost 24/7 with whoever we wish, in spite of being able to send emails and texts and IMs, there are times that waiting is required. My issue is with those times when, with a little preplanning or courtesy, waiting could be eliminated or greatly reduced.

Let’s say you’re at a stoplight; the light turns green and you, who are paying attention because you’re behind the wheel of a 2000-pound or greater machine, glance quickly around to make sure traffic has cleared the intersection – and you go. You do not finish whatever you’re doing or, heaven forbid, finally wake up and realize the light has changed. You go.

What about when you’re behind that joker who has to finish putting on makeup or hang up the cell phone? Or the person who apparently just realized it’s not naptime, it’s commute time? Can you imagine how many traffic jams could be lessened if all drivers paid attention and got moving?

Think how much time you could save at the grocery store, if those who still pay by the archaic check method would actually pull out the checkbook while they were waiting for their order to be rung up. Or, better yet, of course – if they actually got with the program and used a debit card. Maybe they could start telling their life stories when they got to the cashier, instead of waiting till they were leaving. Common courtesy, folks, move along.

Doctor offices. Need I say more? Well, I will, anyway.

A couple days ago, I took my son to the orthodontist. There was, literally, no seating available in the waiting room. Now, he shares an office with three dentists, but seriously – who is responsible for scheduling? Or, more likely, it had to do with the sheer number of parents who think a trip to the dentist for one child qualifies as a family outing. One lady, who alone took up two chairs, brought two kids, AND a baby, in a stroller.

What is up with scheduling in a doc’s office, anyway? Do that many people not show up for their appointments? Really? Even with all the automated calling reminders? Even with the threat of “charging” someone for a missed appointment? ‘Cause, trust me on this one, a doctor cannot possibly see 3-4 patients during the same 15-minute time slot. Nope, no way.

And I won’t get started on phone calls – well, okay, just a little: how hard is it to return a phone call? Now, I understand not wanting to give bad news and all…and I even understand not having an answer or enough information to give any news at all. Sort of. I mean, if you’re told “we’ll have an answer next Tuesday”, then I, for one, expect a damn answer. If nothing else, a phone call saying: there is nothing to report. Not silence. Not more unreturned calls.

One more: telemarketers. Ah, you knew they had to make an appearance here, just because they’re such easy targets, right? What is up with the whole phone-answering thing? When you’re calling someone, and they answer and say “hello”, do you not say “hi”? Or do you just sit there, talking to someone else, or doing something else? Why can’t telemarketers immediately say, “Hi, So-and-So”? Should I really have to holler “HELLL-OOO” into the phone 3-4 times?

Nope. And I don’t anymore; I simply say: “Thank you for calling, but since YOU called ME and don’t have the courtesy to respond when I pick up the phone, go away.” My courtesy lies in answering the phone after a couple rings, after I’ve dropped what I’m doing in the first place, and greeting the caller. If they don’t respond, too bad. They can call the next person and hope for better luck.

My favorite is when you leave a message, ‘cause there’s no real person to talk to from the beginning, and the outgoing message says: “Thank you for leaving your name and number; we’ll get back to you within 24 hours.” What? What do you do all day? Do you have certain days to return calls? Are you skipping town? Can you not call me back sometime between now (9:00 a.m.) and when you close (5:00 p.m.)?

And last, Missouri CSE. Nope, still haven’t heard a word in six months. SIX MONTHS to make a decision on a case. A simple case, of his makes XXX and she makes XXX and these are their respective expenses. Here is his reasoning, and her reasoning, and oh, by the way – I can’t find my notes and I have no recollection of the conference and…holy cow, what a mess!

“Interesting how we perceive things differently.” Boy, is it ever! Seems like just a few short years ago I received a frantic phone call about the potential sale of family property – and that person wanted it stopped, didn’t want someone “outside” the family to get her hands on it (or maybe just the proceeds?). Now, all bets are off.

Forget how we’ve been looking for a house for nearly two years, and paying rent in the meantime, forget how the set-up would be perfect; even, for a moment, forget that this property has been in the family for almost 160 years. Forget, too, how a few particular individuals might read this and almost certainly get the wrong idea.

Too bad.

In 1850, my great-great-great-grandfather started a farm near the Missouri River; he passed it along to his daughter, who bequeathed it to her own three children. One of them was my great-grandmother, who left it to her daughter and two of her grandchildren. One of those grandchildren sold their portion to my dad, and my grandmother gifted her acres to my mother. Up until my dad’s death in 2001, the land was farmed by a family member.

When I was small, we lived there. I helped my great-grandpa feed the animals, and work in his garden; we sat on the steps of the summer kitchen to eat watermelon, and he etched my name in the concrete. I learned how to work the old cistern, just to watch the water gush out; I ran and played with my dog, Bitsy, and his dog, Trixie, and learned to climb trees – even ice-skate, when we had the big storm which covered the whole area with inches-thick ice. We had kittens in the barn, and I rode my pony, Sissy, all over the farm – sometimes in the cart that she pulled, too.

Gramps raised pigs, and gave me one for very own – which I promptly named “Wilbur”; I earned $10, too, when he went off to market. Nana and Gramps and others did the butchering and sausage-making in the garage, and the old washhouse became my playhouse when I was older.

Fast-forward to around 2004, and my mom and sister called me, frantic, because my dad’s trustee was planning to sell a large portion of the fields to “someone”. They wanted to know what to do, and they wanted me to do it. Well, surely by now they’ll deny that, but I was the one who had to read and learn and understand all the documents, all the legalese, make all the phone calls and write all the letters. I’ve spent a lot of money on attorney fees and appraisals.

What did they do? They “didn’t understand”; it was “too much”, too overwhelming; they didn’t “have time” to read things or make comments. They got “too upset” talking about the situation.

Turns out, after 4-5 years of fighting and paying lawyers, there wasn’t anything to be done; my sister stopped speaking to me, my mother has become overly-involved with my son and completely discounts me, my parenting, or anything to do with my life. Except, of course, her own perceptions, which are rather skewed. She barely ever calls, or emails, and only wants to know about my daughter or my older son; never asks about me or my husband or our youngest. Or anyone else. She has no idea what I think or feel about anything, what I’m doing with my life, nothing. I’m sure she feels qualified, though, to gossip about me, and comment to all her friends. I doubt she’s changed much.

For someone who has stated, over and over, that the farm is her daughters’ legacy, but who has also made mention that I would be “horrible” about the farm when she dies – merely because I’d want to live there – she is adamant about selling now. It was so important, she actually called to tell me the news.

Of course, she also inherited (and sold) both my grandmother’s house and her other farm. Made quite a career of doing this, hasn’t she?

So much for a family legacy. I guess she’s forgotten the history.