But first, this morning's sunrise:
Then, not a half an hour later someone had scribbled all over it:
But that's not what I am here to talk about.
Of course I laughed at his weak attempts to "distress" his jeans - are you kidding me? How about you wear them and do some, you know, actual work. What a concept, eh chief?
I have been wearing these jeans for 15 years now and they are still good for at least one more season. Sure, the mosquitos appreciate the fact that they don't have to work too hard to slowly exsanguinate me, and I appreciate the fact that I am saving money.
But this leads back to the title of my post - I make wooden objects and attempt to sell them at a profit. Far up north dude likes to sew. We both like what we do and want to sell what we make and make some money at the same time. He could say "I can buy a wooden bowl made in Indonesia over at WalMart and pay eight bucks for it - why should I pay ten times that for an artisanal bowl made from the finest hand-selected Carolina hardwoods?" And we would be at a stand off. Maybe I could trade him a bowl for a pair of jeans, but on the other hand, I would be afraid to wear them. First because my homies would mock me for putting on airs, second, because who the heck is going to crawl under a pickup to do an oil change wearing such pretentious pantaloons? Not me, that's for sure.
So there you have it - is it a class divide? A divide among those who don't want to spend too much for the basics of life? Or is there something deeper, more insidious at work here? I have no idea. All I know is where I stand, and it's not anywhere in $250 status jeans.
18 comments:
The Missed Purchase
They descended on me in a cloud,
Their purpose to exsanguinate;
My holey jeans, inadequate shroud,
O Brooklyn jeans -- too late! too late!
LOL ricpic - I should just send you anything I want to post and have you summarize it in a poem. You truly are the poet laureate of this site.
Oh crap. I thought the Brooklyn jeans were at least intact, but they too were holey. Nevermind.
Publish in haste, regret in leisure.
Just like that, a Peruvian sky driver writes all over a masterpiece.
Thanks for the cuppa Giuseppe in the morning.
You are welcome, CL - that was the piece of music that made him a star, got his face on the money, as it were.
I like that set, too. The Met just doesn't hold back when it comes to lavish sets, that's for sure.
My bride pointed out a 25 year old flannel shirt had the interfacing popping out and probably 15 holes. This was a few weeks ago. So I chucked it. We men have problems parting w/ old stuff.
Do you all know what interfacing is??
To paraphrase the Great Ejaculator Emancipator, "Interfacing is not intercourse"
For me it's shoes. I hate to let a good pair die and will glue them back together several times with silicone shoe goop. But that stuff costs money, too, so they eventually get to the point where even I don't think they're worth saving.
On Holes and Gaps. Also knowing what interfacing is.
Where to start? Poetically speaking, my sky was recently scribbled over, followed by a glorious sunset, another fresh start and more scribbling. I am now living in the aftermath of endings as well as in the hope that comes with the dawning of a new day.
On the 18th of January, my 96 year old mother quietly and peacefully passed away in her sleep at 6:15, in early morning stillness, as the activities of a new day were about to begin. She'd entered into end stage four days before, the day after I'd returned from a week out of town and the family was able to gather around that night to express their love in person and on Skype while she was still conversant. In the midst of those exchanges, she also held what sounded like a conversation with her deceased father, and mentioned her brother and son (also deceased) as if they were in the room with her. It appeared as though she had a foot in two worlds. From that point on she became less and less able to converse; and in the end, I was alone with her when she slowly and gently stopped breathing. As deaths go, it was a good one.
Those of you who know something of the difficulties and estrangements I've experienced over the years (and expressed at Trooper York's) in attempting to relate with her through the cover of a personality disorder, might be as intrigued and amazed as I was by the shift that happened during her final weeks that allowed me to speak from the heart in grace and truth about her legacy and life at the funeral that followed. That too was a good and unifying experience. When I stopped by the cemetary a week later I experienced a strong sense of completion as the setting sun shone gold on the markers and trees facing west; and what came to mind were the King Jame's version of the words Jesus spoke at the end of his life, "It is finished...into thy hands I commit my Spirit".
More change than that was in the works, however. That night I'd opened a link SonM had emailed me to a house he thought I might like. The next day, MrM and I drove out to see it (an hour from where we currently live and closer to Lake MI) and we were so drawn to it we called the realtor from the driveway, checked it out more completely and made the decision that weekend to buy it and move from the home we've lived in for 22 years (which also happens to be the house I grew up in and bought from my mom following my dad's death.) While we've enjoyed our time at in our current house, we're also ready to move to a place that's on one level, and the new house has all the features we were looking for in a location that works. We've since begun the additional work of packing up the goods from our own lives in order to bring what we treasure and need to another place.
As a result I have been disconnected from the blog-o-sphere, along with the gravity and levity of Lem's for several weeks. While I read here when I can, I have not been able to summon the energy or focus needed to comment. I was looking for a good place to add this story without hijacking a thread, and Sixty's opening involving scribbles, holes, things that are good for one more season and Hebrews looking for freedom and change seemed as good a place as any. Powerful music too, as I listen while writing, and take into consideration thoughts that fly on golden wings, here, there and all about us.
MamaM - I am very sorry for your loss. It sounds as if you are handling it as well as possible.
Hang in there - it sounds like you have a solid plan for moving forward. You have my prayers and thoughts in this tough time.
Mama, My prayers for you and your family. I'm sure you have your share of scars and scar tissue, but the new house sure seems like a blessing. Moving helps one get rid of the stuff you don't need. A defragging of ones life. You're now an orphan. I think you'll do just fine in that new role.
MamaM, sorry for your loss. Blessings to you in the days ahead.
Losing that one person who's been with us even before she saw our face for the first time is a soul stirring experience. If there's a way of doing it right I think you got as close to it as anyone ever gets.
Sorry for your loss, MamaM.
Thanks for the update, MamaM.
I felt reenergized and renewed by moving recently. I hope it helps you too.
I do have one request. You mentioned a device for planting tulip bulbs which someone had made for you. When you find it moving, would you make a blogpost about it?
MamaM. I'm sorry, I'm just reading about losing your mother right now. You have my deepest condolences to you and your family. She will forever be with you all.
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