My Sanford Soap Box

I've been thinking about this post since Sanford began coming out about his affair. Even more so since he began talking about the unnamed women in the past that he "crossed lines" before but never really cheated until his most recent affair, which apparently has been going on for years.

Come on!

I believe that, when you are in a relationship, when you "cross lines," you are cheating. I mean, duh! Now maybe for the two of you, whoever you are, the line is in a different place than it is for the two of us. It's your line and I don't really care where it is. It may be if you actually have "sex" with someone else*; it might be when you dance or flirt or have dinner or wherever. The point is when you cross the line, you are violating your commitment. Own up to it and fix it or leave. But don't try to move the line post hoc or pretend it doesn't exist.

Off my soapbox.

* Apparently Americans (and Europeans) don't quite agree on what "sex" is either.

Here Comes the Sun (for a minute)

A few days ago, I listened to two older women talking while waiting for the train. They were complaining about the weather. The essence of the complaints was that it had done nothing but rain for as long as they could remember.

Apparently they had very short memories. In fact, that same day I had sat outside and enjoyed my lunch in the sun! Sure, a thunderstorm cropped up in the afternoon but it seems that (with the exception of yesterday) we have had decent weather, albeit punctuated by some pretty nifty storms.

We even had cool hail as I rode home on the train. I guess it was cool because I was on the train and not out in it - but . . . And all the precipitation stopped by the time I got to my station.

I guess I could complain about the weather too. Like the NY Times did this week. But why bother. Instead, I plan to continue enjoying warmth of the sun and the drama of the afternoon storms. It's summer in the Northeast. What do you expect?

The Quiet Car

People are not quiet. Septa seems to have ignored this incontrovertible fact when it implemented the "quiet car" program.

This morning I forgot my I-pod. Normally, I get on the train, plug my ears, and contentedly sit and knit in my own little universe. Today, I had to settle in and knit without the accompaniment of Bruce, or Pink Floyd, or knitting podcasts.

I didn't think it would be bad. I was on the quiet car, after all. But as I sat, enjoying the lack of cell phones and earplug bleed, I realized how noisy people are.

There was the man who sniffed every few seconds. Allergies, maybe? The woman who was ticking away on her I-pod or I-phone. Perhaps she doesn't realize you can turn off those damn clicks? The man with the pen. Click open; click shut; click open; click shut; . . . A very noisy coat, a crinkly bag, a tapping shoe, cough, tap, rustle, sniffle, sneeze . . .

And my knitting needles, clicking away, contentedly ignoring the rest.

So much for the quiet car.