You Can’t Make This S**t Up

A few days ago, I had other titles ready for this contribution.  Something like:  This Just In …. And the Winner Is…..  something along that line.  But Oh No, I had to do another something to alter the track of things.  However, before I reveal the story, let me do go ahead and honk my horn.  I think that would be putting the good before the ridiculous.

And so, before I digress, may I announce that, Ta Dah, I managed to win Best In Category for my photographic efforts at the art show to which I traveled to present my efforts for the past few months.  And may I also say that this was for the second year in a row!  I must be doing something right.  Interestingly, I had prepared for the show to do just that – to go into this with the intention of winning – again.  Not that winning is everything, but it’s an important validation for my work, and maybe even my psyche.  It was a pretty show, and some of the most beautiful art in one place that you can see.  And I love going there every summer.  I thought the gal who had the monochrome infrared images did an incredible job, but somehow they chose me. So good for me.  The thought of a Three-Peat sounds selfish and downright unattainable for next year, but we’ll see.  And there you are.  And here I am.

Now, the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey used to say.  My wounded wing has been coming along quite well.  Still gimpy, but improving rapidly.  And then Sunday night, at the very end of the show, while getting ready to change clothes and break it all down…….. I went back behind the walls in a narrow space, got my shoes stuck in the carpet, then tangled in the bubble wrap, and …. here it comes, wait for it…. I fell again.  Unbelievable.  Not my whacked left arm, but No, my dependable right arm!  Almost the same injury, just a different angle.  I suppose that trickster coyote had the last laugh.  No trip to the ER this time.  Ha, I had the compression wrap and the sling already in hand, so I just switched arms, and it hurt like crap.  No way to lift with what was my good arm, now the worse arm, and there I was.  And here’s where you learn to ask for help.  (Could this be my lesson?)  There were, fortunately, strong teenage sons around who belonged to one of the women who run the show.  They signed on, and I had help.  Wonderful help.  They helped my roadie take down the walls and the lights, pack the art, and finally load it in the van.  A little extra cash out the window, but gratefully given.  I survived, and now I am home, healing again.  Ouch.  Still hurts, but I suppose it’ll be better in about three weeks, like my left arm is now.  Maybe I can skip the xray on this one.

All this madness begs explanation, as in:  What in hell is it that I’m supposed to be learning from all this?  What is going on?  I am home and in repose, having brought upstairs all my clothing and what I could manage, and I seem surrounded by chaos.  It seems it’s time for baby steps, in many aspects of my life.  Maybe I’m doing some major Starting Over here.  I obviously have lots to think about, and surprise, I have copious amounts of time to consider oh so many things.

One thing that immediately rises to the fore is Friendship.  A new friend checked in on me after I returned, and on hearing about my inventory and booth walls sitting out and baking in the heat, (since I couldn’t unload it), sent her son and his wife over to unload the van for me.  A very large deal in my book.  Perhaps, besides the obvious Gratitude, I am to be getting to know Patience a whole lot better.  Admittedly, Patience and I have always had a dubious relationship, and I’ve failed to embrace it with welcoming arms, or even consider a casual acquaintance.  Now it’s moved in, invited or not, and I’m going to have to deal with it whether by choice or by chance.  There’s just no way to proceed with my end of summer projects, and other than considering ingenious ways to learn how to print money, I’m going to have to devise other distractions to get though the next few or several weeks while immersed in limited mobility.  Hell and damn.

I’ve been delving into the deeper ramifications of what this is all about, and some other concepts have been rolling around in my head.  I’ve made a lot of noise about “doing the work,” and I think I am now presented with the perfect opportunity.  (That Opportunity thing again – oh joy.)  Despite what I’ve brought into my life with success and progress, there appears to be a lot of unfinished business having to do with Resentment and Anger, two characters you likely don’t want to invite to your dinner party.  I have to admit I hardly ever walk by the structures in the South Acre, (erected and then abandoned by one now absent character in my life play), without emitting some derisive comment about hate or disappointment or an entirely negative reaction.  And I know, it isn’t healthy.  I’m hanging on to loss and just being mad about it all – still!  The one year anniversary of the big ka-bang is days away, and I’m still feeding the negatives.  Now my negatives have set up residence in two bungled arms, leaving me unproductive in so many ways.  Need I spell out L-E-S-S-O-N?  So much to do, so much progress to make and plenty of time now to do it in, but oh no, I’m unable to lift even a paint brush.  Those who are plenty old might remember a catch phrase comment made by William Bendix as the main character Chester A. Riley in an old (old!) sitcom called The Life of Riley.  He would get himself into a fix, and then proclaim:  What a revoltin’ development THIS is. Well, just call me Chester.  Twice, even.  Sheesh.

So instead of spending the rest of the summer swimming in the cove and pushing way forward on the house restoration, and then developing some new art, I have found myself with the new “opportunity” to finally get to the work I’ve been putting off, for say a year or ten, to get to the bottom of what I keep chewing on in my gut.  And not digesting, it would appear.  Time to get rid of that old piece of cud that’s been taking up space in my inner being, preventing good function and promoting bad behavior.  Enough already.

I have a set of Vision Cards given to me by a good friend a few years ago.  They’ve been remarkably accurate when I go to them to ask questions and receive answers or counsel from the Great Mystery, or whoever/whatever it is that’s in charge of such things.  Last night, when I got the cards out to ask what the hell is going on here, instead of the usual positive and strengthening directions I get, I pulled HURT.  Besides the ridiculously obvious physical reference, it went on to say that I was hurting myself with what I was holding on to – the resentment and anger and its negative kin.  I can’t do much else these days, therefore managing to arrange time to do what I’ve seemingly given only lip service to in the months and years past.  Funny how you don’t really get away with anything, do you, despite what fancy duds you put on to present yourself to the world.  Evidently the Queen(ie) isn’t wearing any clothes, either.  So with willing heart and renewed intention, and two gimped up arms that can’t do much of anything, I forge ahead to actually do the work, the real work, of healing and moving on.  And then there’s that Forgiveness thing.

So here I go, on to the journey into what makes me tick, and what stops the clock.  I suppose I’ve come to the Big Gate, and I need to find, or make, the key to get past the roadblocks – the ones I’ve been tripping over lately.  Seems I’ve been pretty good at pontificating, and now I’ve fallen off my podium.  Luckily I can still turn the pages in all the right books, which are right here.

Off on another journey – so close, and yet so far.  Wish me luck.  And oh yes, I can still write, and type!  So stay tuned for the next enlightening adventure, right here and beginning right now.  No road trip, this.  I’m right where I need to be.  (Dang it.)


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