Bereft Object No. 1
"Death comes, death comes."
Another weekend of hard prep work getting things ready for a whole slew of family to move in. More painting, more furniture rearranging. New light fixtures, etc.
Also, the much beloved O'Keefe & Merritt stove started falling apart on us, the door springs busted, the broiler refusing to light or stay lit. So on saturday I took her all apart and tilted her back so I could get underneath her, propped a footstool and a pile of books under so she couldn't crush my head, and spent the next three hours trying to fix the busted door springs. It's one of those deals kind of like fishing wires through the walls trying to wire a new outlet, you've got a flimsy hook you're trying to thread up into the hidden void between the oven and the broiler, and the hook has to grab onto a tiny knob on the back of the door hinge, then a steel cable hooks to that and runs through a pulley and down to a big spring that hooks into a hole on the bottom of the stove. There's one of these setups for each hinge on the oven door and the grillevator door. I managed to get both of the hinges on the oven door repaired and restrung, but the grillevator door is running on just the one hinge. I disassembled the broiler shut-off safety valve that was malfunctioning and not letting any gas run to the burner head. I reassembled that and tightened everything up and now she's running like a champ. While I had her stripped down I gave her a good overall bath in hot water and simple green, washed her and scrubbed off all the accumulated grease and grime, cleaned the oven racks and the inside of the oven and the broiler, the burner heads and drip pans, the back and sides, everywhere I could get to. Then I rubbed her all down with an old dog towel till she shined and glowed pure white like some holy thing.
Which she is.
Ready for Thanksgiving!
All that work was done as a kind of half-assed penance for some bad behavior on my part. Also I managed to put a pretty good strain or tear on the flexor tendon of my left index finger. It swole up pretty good and I can't really do much with it now. It wouldn't bother me so much if it wasn't my damn trigger finger.
Just when I think I'm just about the best thing since sliced bread I manage to put that notion out of contention in a pretty convincing way.
You could set your watch by it.
It is one thing to beat yourself up over imagined shortcomings, another one entirely to stand gape-mouthed at your own stupidity and bad acts.
That woman was pretty good about it, too. I am damn grateful to her for that.
She's a wonder, that one.
I feel like a great storm has gathered and is soon to set upon us. Nor will aught be left standing. Nor will aught be spared or left unchanged.
Me, I'm itching to throw open the shutters, strip buck naked, and stand howling in the teeth of it.
I don't believe that act will protect me nor any of those I am bound to try to save.
I think Hume is right about us being primarily emotionally driven, with the rational mind mostly just running around behind us, trying to tidy up. I don't know if it's a good idea to always be yearning to be better than you are, but I can't seem to accept that I'm good enough the way I am. I know myself too well for that. I think that probably, yes, I am not separate from the great universal groundless consciousness, not any more than anyone else. But also, I am running an operating system that is very primitive and error prone, so it might actually be a good idea to kind of fault-check my base suppositions from time to time, and, you know, defrag my hard drive and dump my cache of cookies.
Plus give myself a good degreasing and maybe rub myself all over with a fluffy towel.
I am grateful to be alive, and healthy, and loved. Employed and paid up. Sheltered and transported.
And given each day the wonderful puzzle of the entire universe to ponder and hang out in.
What did I ever do to deserve all these riches?
Not a damn thing.