Last night on my way home, a familiar song came on the radio, and as I listened, I commented, "You know I never really 'felt' this song like I do now in California. It had to have been inspired here."

It starts out like this...

Driving down the interstate
Running thirty minutes late
Singin' Margaritaville and minding my own
Some foreign car drivin' dude with the road rage attitude
Pulled up beside me talkin' on his cell phone
He started yelling at me like I did something wrong
He flipped me the bird an' then he was gone

Some beach
Somewhere
There's a big umbrella casting shade over an empty chair
Palm trees are growin' and a warm breezes a blowing
I picture myself right there
On Some beach, somewhere

I circled the parkin' lot, tryin' to find a spot
Just big enough I could park my old truck
A man with a big cigar was getting into his car
I stopped and I waited for him to back up
From out of no where a Mercedes Benz
Came cruisin' up and whipped right in

I breathe deeply. At the beginning of this year, a car had pulled into the entrance of the high school and stopped. I was right behind him. I couldn't go around. I needed to get out of the road and I eased ahead until I was kissing his bumper when I realized the light had changed and I needed to be able to get out of harms way. As I reached for the horn, my daughter pleaded with me, "Please mom, NO!"

On my way home I realized I had become a California driver with little tolerance for those who don't follow the rules (like the morning I stopped at the crosswalk near the school waiting for a pedestrian to cross, and the truck behind me roared around me on a two lane road--yep, I laid on the horn--but also to warn the girl crossing). I vowed that I needed to step back and replace my frustration with tolerance and patience. I also needed to accept that when I am driving legally that I need to ignore the impatient honks when I come to a complete stop or drive the speed limit...or refuse to exceed it more than 5+ miles per hour ;)

Then I read a letter in the newspaper from a man who expressed his frustration with himself when he lets 'those' drivers get under his skin and ruin his day. Epiphany. He was right, I was giving other drivers permission to irritate me. So back in the driver's seat I went with a new attitude.

I had been making significant progress on my new and improved attitude. Then two days ago, a guy ran a three-way stop sign and cut in front of me. I honked angrily. Then I tried to breathe. Then I remembered my 'new attitude'. I made a slip, but I was determined to rectify myself.

Last night, the kids were working on their homework and chatting with dad when Kade proclaimed, "Mom honked at this poor car that was sitting at an angle across the road, Dad."

Laughter started bubbling out of my husband, and he immediately commented, "You are such a Californian. I don't even honk at people!"

I heard myself stammering in my defense, "But you don't drive at least 50 miles a day in this crazy traffic!"

As Ron shook his head, Kade embellished his story. He still insists I honked three times. Nikela pipped up with only twice. I maintain it was merely a quick reminder the coast was clear, and they could go since it appeared they had forgotten what the *&^ they were doing as they sat diagonally in rush hour traffic. (Yes, horns express emotions and personalities in the way they are used--like a short, sharp honk to remind a driver on their cell phone a light has turned green...though a second longer and it suggests impatience aka hang up your phone and pay attention)

So here I sit this morning, trying to work on my attitude. Though I digress back to the song. Blake Shelton was right when he said Mercedes and foreign sports cars drivers. They think they have special rules. They dive bomb dangerously in and out of traffic. Their sense of entitlement evidently means that everyone will yeild to them, and they do come out of no where making vigilant driving a key to survival. Though I am always fascinated when I am driving my Suburban that they have the courage to cut me off because on bad days, I could just squish them like a bug...Merely a bump in my road.

Breathing out. It will be okay. I cannot let them. And my mind drifts to quiet country roads...

and it reinforces the idea I have been entertaining for this summer...another road trip but limited to only the back roads with meals at small town diners and conversations with all the folks along the way...and stories to share...