All my life I’ve been blamed for things going wrong but occasionally, it wasn’t even my fault.
The latest misunderstanding happened a few days ago. An associate on the recreation committee had new neighbours on either side of his house. He was to get me a phone number so I could arrange an interview with the family for an item to appear in the October WDRA newsletter. We were starting a series of “Welcome to the Community”. I left a message then later called back for an invitation to go over for a coffee and a talk.
I arrived at the house, knocked at the door, and waited for what seemed too long but finally this man opened the door and I said, “Hi J.”
He said, “My name’s not J.”
“Is J. home?” He said, “Nobody named J. lives here”
I said, “You just telephoned me to come over.” “I did not telephone you or anyone else.”
I still thought he was being cagey, so I said firmly, “You are pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
He shot back, “I am not pulling your leg, period”
I said, “Now that I’m here, would you be interested in giving me some information for the newsletter?”
“I am too busy,” and closed the door.
I proceeded with some caution to the building on the other side of my associate’s where I had been expected and was greeted very warmly. Their family information would be quite suitable for the next newsletter.
My committee ally (really!) analyzed the whole procedure that I endured, even giving me the benefit of what I felt. He examined it studiously and from every angle before he decided two days later. I expected it to a compromise like sharing the blame. What a shocker! He stated that I was to blame because I didn’t listen carefully.
I had a very discomforting experience a few weeks ago. That evening I was getting shoes on to drive Sheila to see a jeweler near Lapasse to have him repair a bracelet of hers. One shoe was on and tied but with the second shoe (the right one) my foot wouldn’t go in. I stuck in my finger and felt something soft. The alarm bells started ringing. I handed the shoe to Sheila who loosened the laces. When she shook the shoe, a big fat dead mouse fell to the floor. I was horrified. You see, I have a phobia or an emotional fear of mice. This dead mouse was by far the biggest one either of us had ever seen. The two cats in the house are useless when it comes to theses critters. I had worn those shoes only a few days before Of course, I wore different shoes for the ride to LA. The next day we speculated that it might have been a rat, which is even more disturbing.
Another occurrence was a month ago when Sheila was boiling some gooseberries that she gathered. She added more sugar than was called for, but it was a bit too much and consequently too sweet for her taste. She blamed me for it because I like things a little sweeter and so trying to please me, it was my fault. I objected to no avail.
I was recalling Canada Day in Westmeath a few years ago. I had volunteered to arrange a vintage car show as part of the agenda. Starting weeks early, I had been in touch with a Renfrew County car club chairperson. We met to go over the details. He was sure that approximately15 cars would be on display that day. The car show was heavily advertised, and much interest was anticipated.
I awoke in high spirits the morning of the Canada Day celebrations but a quick glance outside dampened my mood instantly. It was raining out. Now what? Would the rain let up in time as I knew these pampered cars wouldn’t venture out otherwise? It didn’t. A phone call around noon from my club contact confirmed my worst fears.
At some time, most of us are blamed for something we didn’t do. It feels unjust and unfair and it is. Even if completely guiltless, we still feel guilty. But the truth will set us free.
