Lately, my days off are filled with the big stuff. I don’t mean chores; those are easy, even laundry, what with that stain and all. I mean the big stuff like I said. I am taking a kind of break now from it in order to process by writing. I started a draft for a future post, and now with this one, it’s just a-comin’ out.
[That reminds me of a kind, slow-moving elderly woman from back in a former life when I delivered Meals on Wheels downtown during my lunch hour. I’d wheel the cart to her door and knock loudly, knowing exactly what she’d say every Tuesday. “I’m a-comin'” she would always yell from the kitchen. Once, later on, she did not yell. I knocked again and thought that I heard her inside. I tried the door, eased it open a mere centimeter and then called to her. She said to come into the kitchen please (so kind), and when I did, she was not in a good way. I stayed as long as I could, and as long as it took to ensure that she had some help coming to her. Yes, she would soon have some help a-comin’.]
So, if this post (or any of WaughPaper) seems scattered and scarred or jumbled and jarred, please forgive. It’s the big stuff a’comin through. I might not post this anyway, but that is stupid because I have already thought of a title and put in a couple of kinks, oops links, and it is not a journal; ’tis a blog, so knees up as you read, and cheerio if you make it to the end. I will be there.
Last night, I felt a kind of distance creep in, as if to tell me (kindly and gently) that I am sorta on my own here. I get that, also with the full knowledge that it is not true. There is the comfort that I need and it comes as needed, and I write to let it flow. And it is all going to be okay.
Sure, it’s hard sometimes, life is, but so was working at the sawmill way back when. It was in Oklahoma and my dad was my boss, my friend, and this time, my co-worker. There was a catastrophic failure of some kind and he had to send everyone else home for two days. He and I worked 39 hours straight, side by side, getting the mill back up and running. It’s funny, but just before that he’d put me on salary instead of being paid hourly . . . yeah, really funny.
I could skip it, like Ferris, skip school and find a Ferrari. But that’s not my style, and I do not mind hard work at all, especially if there is value in it. And good work can lead to good encounters and then I can spin a good yarn from it all. But, spinning wheels and not going anywhere, makes nothing but silly string.
And that is what makes these days off, filled with the big stuff, of such import. There is this value-added aspect to them that makes all of it worth anything that I can do.
It is that one stain that makes laundry worth the trouble.