Epiphany

It's not often that we have epiphanies and they can come in a variety of ways. Sometimes we see a great work of art or pick up the Good Book or step around a tree and come face to face with a cow moose with a calf. I've had such an epiphany. I'm a curmudgeon.

Ivy league eggheads define a curmudgeon as a bad-tempered or surly person. I'm good with that, well except the ivy league eggheads bit. Curmudgeons are made, not born, but being born in Idaho I had a lot against me in becoming a curmudgeon. There are the high mountains, wide valleys, fishing holes, hunting spots, hidden corners, and other Idahoans who know that personal space is defined in miles past the fence.

It takes a lot of years and hard work to become a curmudgeon. First you have to hear a lot of people talk about things that they do not have the first clue about. Then you have to try to help them by explaining the way it really is. Then you have to try to help them out of the jam they got into by still going ahead and being stupid anyway. Assuming they survive you have to keep repeating this. If they have the temerity to kill themselves off then you have to go find another person to blather on about things while ignoring you until they go and do something stupid and get themselves killed too.

During my formative years this was not as easy as it might sound to kids today. Back then we did not have the Internet or even cable television so very few people knew everything about everything. Another benefit was the stock of transplanted Californians were still getting started and generally spent their time in Sun Valley trying to pretend they were rugged campers in between sipping lattes in their mansions and driving like maniacs over Highway 75.

But there was something else against us becoming curmudgeons back then too. Idahoans had long ago learned that it was best to let their young learn early on that Idaho is a beautiful place, but she is always trying to kill you. Like some kind of girlfriend picked up in Caldwell, this state might be a lot to look at, but it is best to realize she is probably carrying a knife, a 9mm, and a bad temper. The dumb kids did not last long so it was hard to become ill-tempered with them.

Of course I did not realize at the time that I was becoming a curmudgeon. I was simply antisocial. I did not wanting to be near to any dumb kids that tried to take a Caldwell girl out on a date on a dark lonely road. I spent my time reading hunting books and gun magazines, hunting, fishing, target shooting, and otherwise perfecting my marksmanship should I ever run into one of those girls from the Oregon side of the state. I was also doing what I could to not get killed by Idaho which seems to be a life-long task.

Eventually though my journey to curmudgeonhood became a lot easier when we had an insurgence of Californians in the late 80's. Soon came satellite television, 24 hour news channels, Internet, and automatic transmissions. In no time at all they were driving rear-wheel drive vehicles in the winter, bungee jumping off the Perrine bridge, and trying to pet a mountain lion. We would stand back, waaaaay back, and gently say something like, "Gee Fred, jumping off a 486 foot bridge with nothing but a rubber band probably isn't too smart." Fred would jump and then we would have to go find another Californian to talk to about things they did not understand, gravity and terminal velocity often being at the top of the list.

Surprisingly, after many years of trying to explain the detrimental effects of petting large carnivorous wildlife, I still did not realize that I had become a curmudgeon. I thought of myself as a kindly, good-natured, antisocial guy who just tried to leave other people alone and hoped they would return the favor.

Things changed this last week. For at least a decade now I have been telling people that sometimes it really snows in our part of Idaho. With typical bravado they would whip out their dumb phones, check the average annual precipitation, and declare that no real precipitation ever falls here. In fact, they would point out, the last ten years there was a lot less than average precipitation. All attempts at explaining how averages worked simply fell on deaf ears.

Sure enough, we got three feet of snow in a short period. The devastation was horrific. Rear wheel drive cars were spinning their tires at the bottom of hills. Little kids with their faces glued to little glowing screens kept slipping and falling on their backsides. There was a run at the stores for batteries, food, and self-help books.

I snorted, sat back, and quietly took a sip out of my coffee mug. I snarled something unintelligible but along the lines of, "Well, it's not like I didn't worn those ladies and gentlemen." I was struck. It was then, at that very moment, the epiphany hit - I was a curmudgeon. It was no longer the words I said that mattered. It was the rumble of disdain that rolled up from my chest and spit itself out at the fools I could no longer suffer.

It took me a few moments to really realize what had happened. Suddenly the weight of the world seemed to be lifted from my shoulders. No longer did I have to worry that someone would not listen to my hard-earned wisdom. No longer would I spend nights awake trying to find the right way to talk someone out of jumping off a perfectly good bridge. I could just sit back, snort, shake my head and sip my coffee.

Of course, being a curmudgeon, it helps to let people know I told them so. Therefore, I blog.