I spent much of Today thrashing the hedges. It took some time, because I wanted to give them a proper thrasing, and at eight to ten feet tall, they were much bigger than me. And they were bristling with that badly contained rebellion so common to feral shrubs. My allies, the hedge trimmer (mortal enemy of all things hedgy) and a number of other sharp edged tools, helped me out a great deal, but the whole process was pretty laborious and consequently took forever. The redeeming feature of these circumstances was that I had plenty of time to think.
Here is an example:
How am I going to get these stupid things to look level? The ground is like a bloody sine function. Hey, ducklings. The pond is very green. I need to write a blog post sometime. I could write about ducklings. No, writing about work is no good. Too boring. But Dad said that one can make a good story out of ANYTHING... even though I argued at the time, it kind of makes a little bit of sense, possibly...
Okay, I could tie a string to that post and then to the telephone pole, and measure about 7 feet on each one. Whoa, sparrow. And then - 'nother sparrow - try not to hack through the line.
... RRRGH! #$*%@ string! Why is it so thin? Okay, what am I doing? I have all this time to think. I should write a poem right now. In my head. Then I can have something to post. What comes to mind? Uh...
...plants?
As of now, I call this workthink: the kind of thinking that one does when one is engaged in labor which fails to capture the majority of one's attention. I think most people that work alone for long periods of time experience it. And it's pretty valuable, if you use it right. The above bit is impure workthink; cutting the hedges required a bit too much of my working memory to allow a poem to form, or a useful idea for my story, but pure workthink is golden. It's a tiny bit like getting paid to write. (Woot!) Even if it's all written in my head.
Therefore, it is my privilege to inform everyone that Sooner or Later, I'll be painting fences, and the number of writerly thoughts in my brainbox should increase dramatically. Stay tuned!
Showing posts with label episodes at work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label episodes at work. Show all posts
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Man in the Mickey Mouse Shirt
A lot of times, people let us down. Case in point: I think I've been disappointing anyone who reads my blog lately. And we know that the let-downs that everyone experiences from time to time are often much worse than that. So isn't it awesome when people (especially perfect strangers) exceed expectations?
Consider the man in the Mickey Mouse shirt. (I'll call him M.) He appeared one morning when I was weeding in the rain at my boss's office. It was a garbage job, and I was tired and sore and grumpy and the light was as darkness in my eyes. It was one of those days. I was savagely ripping horsetails and dandelions from the ground when I heard, "Hey! Have you seen my rabbit?" It was M., of course.
He was a short guy with a high tenor kind of voice, and dirty blue coveralls. His face was crinkled into a smile. Wispy brown hair topped him off. I figured he was anywhere from 50-60 years old. While I was looking at him with that look that irrationally angry people have when they're interrupted, he said, "Yeah, there's a rabbit that always hangs around in the weeds here. I like to watch him eat the dandelions." He said something pleasant about the hedges too.
I was crouching in a pile of mangled dandelions just then. It occured to me that the rabbit probably wouldn't show up again any time soon. I sought for an appropriate facial expression in lieu of something to say. M. smoked a cigarette for a bit. Eventually, he left.
Hours later, it'd stopped raining and I was cheered up. I was finished the most outrageously overgrown bits of the garden and was working on a resistant clump of grass when M. suprised me again. "Whoa! You're still here!" he grinned. "I thought you were gone and forgot your coat!" He pointed to my coat, which was draped over a rock. I smiled, but words failed me again. What does one say to that, except 'nope' ? Besides, now that his work coveralls were gone, his Mickey Mouse shirt was kind of distracting me. Not very many fifty-something mechanics wear Mickey Mouse shirts, do they?
He continued, "This all looks good. Really really good. 100% better," and my worries that he was grieving for his rabbit's habitat were put to rest. I said, "Thanks." He drove away in an old blue clunker. Mentally, I shook his hand for being a friendly old mechanic in a mickey mouse shirt. Props to him.
Consider the man in the Mickey Mouse shirt. (I'll call him M.) He appeared one morning when I was weeding in the rain at my boss's office. It was a garbage job, and I was tired and sore and grumpy and the light was as darkness in my eyes. It was one of those days. I was savagely ripping horsetails and dandelions from the ground when I heard, "Hey! Have you seen my rabbit?" It was M., of course.
He was a short guy with a high tenor kind of voice, and dirty blue coveralls. His face was crinkled into a smile. Wispy brown hair topped him off. I figured he was anywhere from 50-60 years old. While I was looking at him with that look that irrationally angry people have when they're interrupted, he said, "Yeah, there's a rabbit that always hangs around in the weeds here. I like to watch him eat the dandelions." He said something pleasant about the hedges too.
I was crouching in a pile of mangled dandelions just then. It occured to me that the rabbit probably wouldn't show up again any time soon. I sought for an appropriate facial expression in lieu of something to say. M. smoked a cigarette for a bit. Eventually, he left.
Hours later, it'd stopped raining and I was cheered up. I was finished the most outrageously overgrown bits of the garden and was working on a resistant clump of grass when M. suprised me again. "Whoa! You're still here!" he grinned. "I thought you were gone and forgot your coat!" He pointed to my coat, which was draped over a rock. I smiled, but words failed me again. What does one say to that, except 'nope' ? Besides, now that his work coveralls were gone, his Mickey Mouse shirt was kind of distracting me. Not very many fifty-something mechanics wear Mickey Mouse shirts, do they?
He continued, "This all looks good. Really really good. 100% better," and my worries that he was grieving for his rabbit's habitat were put to rest. I said, "Thanks." He drove away in an old blue clunker. Mentally, I shook his hand for being a friendly old mechanic in a mickey mouse shirt. Props to him.
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