Woman Churning Butter by Mississippi Folk Artist William Barton.
I'd look out my window and see that dirty pair of boots in the yard. But my happiness depends so much on wearing those boots. Jimmy Santiago Baca
We received a party favor from the winter vortex. A small plastic pipe wreaked havoc with our life style. The kitchen is now gutted; the main living area, floorless. What is surprising is how little this seems to bother me.
It appears that I have a tolerance for chaos.
The truth is that in aloneness, I revert to a natural and comforting state of sloppiness. At heart, a bohemian condition is ever present. It is a compensation that comes from a familial overabundance of genetic good fortune - a neat freak heritage.
Just like the sub standard pair of eyes that I received during creation. Most of my people have little need for eyeglasses until old age. My first grade teacher sent repeated notes to my parents requesting a check up. My parentals would not relate to weak peepers.
Good vision might be the underpinning of the neat freak, a sort whom I admire. The particulars of neat freak-ism brings up other things that would have been handy in life… athleticism, test taking skills, a penchant for producing music….
Even so, a funny thing happened while living. I found a way to honor the not so pretty parts that are uniquely mine.
Like the crooked back that sets the stage for quirky misalignments, an approach to life that brings instant engagement with an assortment of handicapped souls.
Like a memory that is unworthy to dwell on the academic world of statistics and figures, but is ever tuned and ready for beauty and its corresponding emotional state.
Like a pertinacious streak ten miles wide. Yes, such an adjective describes the talent for holding to an opinion or course of action and while that tendency might not win the popular vote; it is essential when sorting pebbles in the rock pile of life.
I highly recommend the sacred neatening up of your freak. It is good work if you can get it.