Good judgment is the result of experience, and experience the result of bad judgment.
-- Mark Twain
There are so many rules. State laws, federal laws, city ordinances, codes of ethics, judicial canons, company policies, standard operating procedures, rules of etiquette, rules of engagement, social mores, industry standards, rules of grammar and a plethora of unwritten rules in any given community that one best not violate. God tried to help by nailing down the Big Ten, and when we still couldn't manage that, He boiled it down to two: Love Him and love one another.
No wonder we favor the technical rules. It's easier to drive 55 mph than be nice.
But of all the rules made to broken, there is none harsher or swifter in sentence than an unspoken rule in small town politics.
Many years ago, my friend, Beverley, moved with her husband, Phil, to a large ranch located near a rural western town. Beverley is, hands down, one of the nicest people I have ever encountered. She's warm and generous and has a smile that envelops her face so much that her nose crinkles and her eyes disappear. Her mere presence would make the Pope feel the need to go to confessional.
As Phil and Beverley were settling in and meeting others in their new community, they learned of an upcoming festival where an ice cream social and contest would be held. What better way to meet the neighbors than to not only attend the festival, but actively participate!
Phil insisted that Beverley enter the ice cream contest. She hesitated, but he nudged her, for no one on the planet made a better walnut maple ice cream than she did. She knew it. He knew it. And soon, the whole town would know it.
And oh, how they would know it. Beverley had no idea she was about to make history.
Unbeknownst to her, there was one lady in town who prided herself on being the Queen of Cream. "Agnes" (as I will affectionately call her) had won the ice cream contest every year since Lincoln wore diapers. Other ladies would faithfully submit their entries knowing full well that Agnes would walk away with the blue ribbon. She knew. They knew it. And the whole town knew it.
Well, almost the whole town.
Neither Beverley nor Agnes knew the other existed until the day of the ice cream social. As the entries were being judged, the crowd parted, and Agnes inched her way closer to the podium. The judges conferred, and conferred again, then conferred one more time just to be sure. A lady cleared her throat and took the microphone.
Agnes didn't speak to Beverley for a full year after losing her crown as the Queen of Cream. Phil and Beverley learned that some juice just ain't worth the squeezin'.
And I learned this story from the queen herself as she sat bedside with her king in his final days this week. Even the tears couldn't quite stifle her smile.
NAN Our Town on 11/01/2018