The Lawn

Men are no dummies. I have to admire their cunning, but I have caught on to their ruse.

Earlier this year when I moved into a house without the luxury of a gardener, I began using a push mower to care for the lawn myself. My goodness is it satisfying. It is a relatively easy task that works up a healthy sweat, it has a defined beginning and end, it keeps track of your progress as you go, and it is quite gratifying that the results are pleasing to the eye.

So, now I realize why men desire to keep outdoor chores for themselves by perpetuating the stereotype of, “it is a man’s work if you sweat.” What a bunch of hooey. Laundry-Dishes-Toilets vs. Mowing-Trimming-Fixing, Hum……..Let me see, I need to choose right? Well that’s a no brainer. Like I said, men are no dummies.

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Humph

It has been brought to my attention by number two son that my laziness is only a visible symptom of stubbornness. At first I was incredulous. I mean come on, really, how do you get there. But the argument was logical. Isn’t the postponement to do what you should, just a way of saying, “No, I don’t want to.”

I find it very interesting that I was comfortable labeling myself as lazy, but stubborn really knocks me down. I suppose because I associate stubbornness with an unacceptable level of pride, and I see pride as the root of all sin.

This spins the view I have of myself off its axis.

But I am too lazy to change today, maybe tomorrow.

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Rabbit Holes

Emotional vibrations are not a measurable force that impacts the body, but they have an essence that can be physically felt and alter perceptions. What is this phenomenon? Is it the energy of thought waves? That would be awesome, but life is not science fiction unfortunately. Perhaps it is a subconscious realization assembled from subtle visual clues that translates into a physical reaction. Perhaps it is……okay wait a minute, I am going to stop myself now, before I get sucked into the multitude of possibilities, no matter how entertained I would be.

I have this example. It is not really very good, or even alive, but it came to mind while driving Bessie, my cow of a car. Think about driving an automobile, and you’re not sure why, but you know something is amiss long before the idiot lights come on. You have picked up on subtle clues or vibrations because you are familiar with the car. The key to having this situation go well is a good mechanic that listens, and does not dismiss your ineloquent noises and gyrations as you try to communicate your concerns, and they are then able to translate them into fixit language, therefore making repairs before you are left stranded, possibly alone.

Within a non-communicative family there are all the things that are under the surface: the moods, the tensions, the he said/she said, the praise, the love, and so on and so forth. To be all encompassing, and for ease, I like the word vibrations.

With this kind of family the key to cohesiveness is a good collector. Someone who listens to all the noise, watches all the gyrations, and picks up on the out of place vibrations. A good collector knows how to interpret the many different styles that family members use to communicate, which they then translate and pass on, or decide instead, to perform the very necessary function of absorbing surplus angst, therefore helping avoid the rifts that can undermine cooperation and tranquility, thus preventing a breakage in the often tenuous strands that bind families together.

This is not an ideal situation, because how goes it with the collector, so goes it for the family. But how do you redirect the set course of tradition? Is it possible to use a new method for communication that is universal to all members? Should it really be so hard to say I love you out loud, and not just depend on the collector to spread the love for you? Trying to find an answer to this conundrum will have you chasing down rabbit holes.

Unfortunately for all involved who like the current status quo of polite avoidance, and I include myself in that group, the fixer has awakened and registered the potential disaster that could shred the fabric of an already fragile family.

I have to assume that it only blipped on the fixers radar because of a wisp of an idea that arose from the current stew of frustration I am afloat in, which was cooked up by the loss of my patient and skilled auto mechanic.

Thankfully Bessie is a replaceable tool, an expensive one, but a fixable one. Unlike the loss of a collector within a family with too many introverts, the vacuum this loss would create has the potential to send the members spiraling outward until the ties that bind are broken.

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Quorum: me, my neurosis, and I

If you were able to read last week it was because I had given you the password. Don’t feel slighted if you didn’t receive one. I never actually got around to sending them. It was a good thing. It made me realize that having a password is just way too much work.

I seriously suffer from a common, but incurable condition characterized by avoidance, apathy, slothfulness, idleness, evasion, to name a few symptoms, or basically….. laziness. To make it even worse, I am that stupid kind of lazy that expends more effort in trying to get around things, than if I just hunkered down and did them.

During the writing hiatus caused by working at trying to figure out how not to do to the work of a password dispersal, I gave the necessity of this site some intermittent processing time during the occasional lull in my attention requirements. I was surprised by the resulting idea, that it might not be the easy choice of privacy, but obsession, which prompted the password fiasco.

In my new quest to be genuine and transparent, I must acknowledge that I have enjoyed having my post read and liked; obsessively. This leads me to wonder what bias, this desire for praise, has worked into the honesty of the pieces. Is vanity destroying the benefit that can be reaped from candid introspection?

I do get that not everything has to be serious. Besides, I am way too lazy to sustain the degree of effort it takes to look beyond the words for any extended length of time, but more than that, I would not be willing to give up the unexpected pleasure rush of a spontaneous quick write, of light laughable stuff and nonsense.

However, as looked at in a previous post, there is more to this writing thing than just fun and non-tangible words on a page. I have not wanted to explore what it might be, but it continues to taunt me, to edge into my thought stream and dam it up. I suppose I will have to lay this obsessive journey out from beginning to end, to search out the nuggets of insight.

But, I will do this alone, because traveling down the memory lane of someone else’s neurosis, can be as tedious as listening to their dreams. I have to imagine that this is because the listener does not have the visuals, and so much of memories and dreams are the sights, smells and sounds, and I am just not that good of a writer to make it interesting to anyone but myself.

Still I am at a crossroads, if I keep writing about the exploration of my psyche for public consumption, while being obsessed with the desire for positive feedback, will it prejudice me into being dishonest with myself, and therefore defeat the growth factor I have experienced in my personal interactions with others?

I know that I cannot stop writing; the impulse to do so is too overwhelming to ignore. Additionally, I should not go back to writing at inappropriate times, like business emails or 1000 word answers to an acquaintance’s simple question, or worst of all, back into a muted world of words, populated only by my solitary imagination.

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Can’t Sleep

Can’t Sleep! Maybe it should be won’t sleep. What keeps a person from just going to sleep when you are supposed to? I really don’t understand why it is so hard. You logically know that if you just lie down and close your eyes, sleep is the most likely result, but you don’t do it. Instead you go kicking and screaming in your mind, in complete avoidance. It is truly ridiculous to behave in such a fashion.

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Beware the Fixer

We should all know by now that the Fixer can’t help it. Which is why when conversing with its Host, one must bring fortitude alongside ones narration. For the Fixer is always there, lurking in the crevasses of its Hosts central processing unit; listening, assessing, its radar sweeping all conversations, waiting to pounce upon the words of a speaker, if it but catches a whiff of distress or confusion.

The Fixers thoughtless conduct leaves the Host in an endless loop of disconnectedness, as the Fixer systematically eliminates budding confidants, scattering them as they escape from the Fixer’s relentless recital of uninvited solutions.

With familiarity it can become obvious, that the Fixers unwelcome obsession to help, manifests because of a defect in its programming, not from a malevolent intent. Regrettably for the Host, the Fixer drives away most before this familiarity can be achieved. Only the steadfast remain, and even they are often disgruntled with the Host’s inability to leave the mute button pressed.

It is well known that the Host’s Motherboard has perfected quiet listening, so the defect cannot be the Host’s hardware. Conjecture is that the Fixer’s programmer must have skipped school the day conversational skill coding was covered. So even if the Fixer’s Host comprehends that others just want to share their difficulties, their day, their thoughts, without an instructive response or unsolicited advice. That exasperating lurking Fixer is lacking what should be the simplest of commands; the capacity to be still.

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For my Family

I started this blog to let the people in my life get to know me. The reality of my crippling shyness has kept me from face to face sharing of my thoughts, likes and dislikes, dreams and beliefs……….. fill in the blank space with anything and I haven’t shared it; ever.

I have actually spent large portions of my life pretending to be something other than myself. The first set of years of pretending were the antithesis of the life I lived in my mind. I consciously did this because then no one could really wound my inner core. Not when it was bound, buried and locked away from view.

The second set was spent trying to fit into what I mistakenly thought would be a socially advantageous life for my children. Also to keep my core hidden from a husband who didn’t like the real me, but did like the pretenders, both the liar he married and the shadow I became. This did not go so well.

About ten or so years into that second set, I had a life changing event. I found unconditional love and acceptance on a scale I had never experienced. After my acceptance of this unexpected love and grace, my fear of life began its gradual downward tick.

Unfortunately, I found my new-self trapped in the life of a pretender. I was completely lost in a world of my own making. I began to feel lonely. This was a new experience for me. So I ventured out of my make believe world, which had sufficed up until then, and began to be myself around my children. This was incredibly freeing, and this small taste of relaxation brought with it, the desire for more. The only way I could find to change my situation, and release the grip of the pretender, was to pull my surroundings in close, and when possible, avoid everyone that knew me. I had to become completely self absorbed in an effort to try to find my lost self between the many layers of duplicity. As it happens, the trauma of family upheaval, long working hours, and a shortage of funds made this easier to accomplish. Since this time, I never doubt that all things can work together for good.

There is this Ogden Nash poem my mother used to read to me, where Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears with a realio trulio pet cowardly dragon. I loved that poem, but it always made me feel inadequate. I never put together why until recently, when I realized that I was never the Belinda in that poem. I have always been the cowardly dragon that would fiercely spring to your rescue and gobble up all the dastardly pirates; but only if you absolutely needed me, otherwise I just spent my life hiding and building a nice safe cage.

In this blog, through these words, I am trying to coax the dragon out. The idea being, if I let you get a glimpse of the real me in these missives, perhaps it will be easier to engage and fellowship with honesty. Perhaps it will be enjoyable and I will start to care. Right now I feel like I have lived far too long as Maurice Sendak’s Pierre, who didn’t listen to those who loved him because it was easier not to care, than it was to want to fold the folding chair and go to town.

But don’t worry, even if I pack up and go to town with my writing, I will always be there for you if a circumstance arises where someone needs to be eaten or vanquished. Because you know dragon moms never truly disappear; they only go into hibernation.

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image creator unknown

 

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