Happy Days are Here Again
On the road again. I can't wait. But I must.
Here in this office warehouse, while trying to envision what is to be my future, I realize that, in the past, I did not look very far forward except to the fact that I would likely be around for a while. I was younger then, healthy and quite confident. I was relatively skilled and jobs were plentiful. I needed but a small rainy-day fund to satisfy my aching belly. I lived for the day. A small amount for yesterday, a small amount for tomorrow, and the greatest attention to the day at hand. I still live for today.
And these days, I love to be outside when a gentle breeze fills the air with natures aroma. While a cow pasture and the smell of manure can bring up memories of childhood, the scent of todays’ blooming flowers mingled with the decay of yesterdays’ tree leaves fills the nostril with the flavors of country life. I love the feel of sunshine on my skin and soon after the wiping of sweat from my brow while enjoying the shade of a tree. I love dangling my feet in the cold water of a creek to later hang onto a river rock with the power of the rapids washing a fresh water aroma through my hair. I just love to be outside more so than being stuck inside.
When inside though, I do appreciate air conditioning. I also appreciate that I have a fairly good understanding on how the air conditioner does what it does.
Beyond being fairly certain that I would be around for a while and armed with faith in the verses of Matthew 6:25-34, I’ve never made any intricate long term plans before. I have made some plans, though. I have made plans for building a deck or a table. I’ve made plans to inspect the vehicle or do the brakes. I’ve made plans to walk on a trail on the same day as a dental appointment. These are the kinds of plans I’ve made over the years. Some of them may have been written on paper, with dimensions, angles, and materials noted. While other plans may have been simply in my head. For the most part, I let the day dictate my plans. The only long term plans I have made seem to center around endowing anything that I did do with the ability to endure the tests of time. I’ve heard it said that there are few things more permanent than a temporary measure. This reflects a great part of reality. Thus, it is best to plan for endurance, even if it is only meant to be temporary.
I’ve lived my life for today with endurance being the consideration for tomorrow. My main plan, or course of action, has been to figure it out. I’ll figure it out. That has been somewhat of a motto. I’m in a warehouse at 62 years old. Still trying to figure it out. My latest project, to fulfill a need, is a snapshot of this and a picture of most of my entire life.
My ‘stuff’ strewn all over the floor appears as a mess lacking any order. Among the items lying about the floor, were my campstove and a French press coffee maker doodad. I’m not exactly sure why I’m having trouble with letting someone buy me a coffee, but in order to not have to pay dearly for every cup of coffee, I needed a table that could hold this camp stove while also giving space for the coffee pot and a cup. The expected duration of use for this table is unknown. It had to be sturdily built as a result. I did not want to get too fancy with it though, because the plan was, once again, to merely have utility and be economical in time spent and cash layout. The table may be discarded in a few months anyway. But I did want to have some fun with it. So, I incorporated angles other than ninety degrees and used trigonometry to get the dimensions. And I made the joints with mortise and tenon too. It was fun. I don’t know if I’ll ever do another one after this. I’d like to do more though.
The lease on this ‘workshop’ I’m in ends in about nine months. I kind of sort of have to make plans. I’m reaching that over the hill mark if I have not already passed it. I think that these plans need to be a little better thought out than my normal - ‘I’ll figure it out.’ I’ve lost and/or let go of enough stuff that I’d would still be using if I still had the stuff. Ah, oh well. The milk is spilt. Can I go on like this? Living in my van on a tiny income. How much will I use any of my tools in the future? Way back when, when I started selling my stuff, part of the justification was in telling myself that I am getting older. My strength will wane. I won’t want to do all that physical work anymore. But guess what, I get back into a warehouse workshop a few years later, and what do I do? I start working on stuff. Not as intensely as I would have another day in time. But nevertheless, and evidently, I still like working with tools. And I am lamenting the loss of so many of my... extensions. I do think I’d like to piddle and tinkle on into the future. What am I going to do?
And then there is this writing thing. I think I can write for the public? Am I supposed to be somebody? It has been a month since I published an article. What do I do? What do I write about? I’ve considered writing a farewell article. It would be the least that I should do. Say this is it; I won’t be writing anymore. I’m done. Sitting on my butt all day, ugh. It is not for me. (I do it a lot anyway, another ugh!) Farewell? That way no one would be expecting or anticipating anything else. Then I could be done. I could go on without this, uh, project, on my mind. I am getting along in age, though. My strength will wane. My interests will have to change. I cannot live on frisbee alone, nor forever. (probably not) And, I know that my life is going to have to change, again. This living situation is okay for now. But I have no vision as to what it is to be. I don’t envision being in this warehouse past the end of this lease. There is still too much lacking in my life. What am I going to do? I need to figure it out.
I went to the river the other day to take a bath. I was walking in the park by the river and I met a female. In my opinion, I look good for my age, (all men seem to think that) but I don’t expect to attract anyone to visit me in my workshop or sit with me in my van. So, as much as I can, I suppress any desires beyond friendly conversation in my best attempt to engage in some conversation. For that is what I lack the most. Maybe, as a result of this, that female did not dismiss me right away. This was quite nice to me. She even asked me what I was doing there. I told her that I was there to get a bath in the river. She appeared puzzled. Was it my usage of the term bath rather than swim that seemed strange to her? If she knew of my living situation she may have understood my choice of words. She did not stop talking to me at this point. I am grateful.
She did start talking scripture and seemed well versed. I thought it nice to meet someone willing to discuss her beliefs. We talked some more. Somehow, she brought up the subject of living to 120 years. I recognized this as a reference to Genesis 6:3 where “..the Lord said: My spirit shall not remain in man forever, since he is flesh. His days shall comprise one hundred and twenty years.” I responded to her that this has never been established. I also said something about 930 years, 173 years and I myself will probably die of a broken heart long before I ever see 120 years. She looked away on that one. She asked me my name. I told her. She asked my last name too. I told her this as well. And when I did tell her, she immediately told me to enjoy my bath. What a dismissal, by the mention of my name. My fame precedes me. How famous am I? It kind of hurt.
Do I write a farewell? One month, I wrote another article for the public. I did it. Here it is. So maybe not a farewell. I’ll do what I can to put another one out yet. But I can’t imagine staying in this warehouse and my van much longer. (certainly not for 58 more years until I’m 120 years old). Sometimes I feel like I won’t even make one more year. What does this spirit dictate that I do? Nine more months on this lease, I must decide something. I just built an okay little table. Do I build some shelves knowing that I will probably have to throw them away? I surely need something to allow for better organization of what I have. This time, or soon, when I move out of this warehouse where am I to go? Knowing that I won’t willingly take any venom from a needle, I’m not sure where that will leave me to be. If I have nowhere to go, then everything goes, into a dumpster if necessary. Then I may just be like Tarzan with nothing but his loin cloth and steel bladed knife. And his wits.
What then Lord?