Written right there on the side of the box of salt are words that sum up what I am feeling right now. There she is, a little girl, walking in the rain, under an umbrella, with salt pouring from the box in her hand. The words read, “When it rains, it pours”. The slogan comes from an old proverb that reads, “It never rains, but it pours”. Something doesn’t happen for a long time, and then when it does, it seems to come all at once. How true that is.
It just seems that everything happens at once. It can’t be just a little sprinkle of strife and sadness. No, it has to pour down like a deluge upon us. Upon me. I’m not talking about the rip in my heart from my divorce. No, that dead horse has been flogged enough. I’m talking about life in general. There is never enough money, cars break down, and hearts get shattered. Just when everything seems to be going right, things seem to be looking up, the sun is shining and things are grand, that’s when the storm seems to race in and drop pain and misery in a cascade upon my life. It’s not enough for me to not be able to get through; it just makes it look like it is.
Bills, bills, bills and more bills. They seem to add up faster than I can send them on their way. It is even worse now that no money is coming in. Money is coming in soon, though. It never fails that the government will slow things down. If you want something that you worked for and is owed to you, be assured that if the government has to put their hands in it first, it will take forever to get to you. My unemployment checks might as well be taped to the back of a turtle that is set free on the outskirts of Memphis and told to take it to Cleveland and to “be quick about it”. I have two collection agencies on my back, several medical bills, and leftover utility bills from my previous place of residence. Of course, I take the blame in not getting my payments to the original debtors in time to keep them from going to collections, but the money was just not there at the time and I had used up all my mulligans with them. They kept saying, “You know this will negatively affect your credit.” My reply to that was to remind them of what I have gone through…bankruptcy, foreclosure, unemployment…it didn’t matter. The money was just not there.
Not having the money hits me in another area as well. My vehicles. I have been without my main mode of transportation for several months now. My ’78 bus, Oscar by name, has had his engine out because of an oil plug that blew out and causing all of the oil to pour out…more than he usually leaked, which is a big problem. I have to do some work to get the engine back in, and in the meantime, I am driving my ’79 camper. I don’t like driving her all the time. She is meant for special occasions like going camping, going to shows (and camping), Sunday drives (and camping!), and parades (but mostly camping). As much as I hate it, I might have to let her go. The money I would get from selling her would really go a long way in getting Oscar back on the road. I have owned her since ’98 and letting her go would be a huge sentimental blow to my heart. I can do it, but it is a vicious circle…I can’t sell the camper before getting Oscar fixed…I can’t get Oscar fixed without the money from the sale of Sweetpea. I’m sure to find a way, but it would be a whole lot easier if Sweetpea was gone and money lined my pockets. I am getting relief in the form of government programs that my tax dollars have been paying into for all these years. It is only temporary, but needed and appreciated all the same. That is one thing I can thank my Uncle Sam for…
And, in the immortal words of the J. Geils Band…love stinks. Well…sometimes it does. I mean, I love “love”, but nothing hurts worse than losing it. “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all”. Bunk. Without having loved, you don’t know what you have missed and you don’t have to duct tape your heart back together, all in the hopes that the next love doesn’t pull the tape away and the pieces fall apart, causing you to start all over again with the taping, and the healing, and the hurting and…and…*sigh*. I’m tired of putting my heart into someone only to have it drop kicked to the curb…or even just handed back to me with slight bruising. They both hurt the same.
Dang. Where’s my umbrella? I’m getting wet. You know what? Screw it…I’m going to go for a walk. Just because it is pouring down doesn’t mean that I’m not going out in it. I want to. I have to. What’s that other saying? That it “rains upon the just and the unjust”? It doesn’t matter. It is going to rain anyway. Might as well take it in stride, just like basking in the warm sunlight. As much as it might seem to, rain doesn’t last forever. In fact, I think I can see a bit of sunlight peeking through the darkest part of the cloud cover. Sun coming in the form of a new job that can bring financial stability, a chance to get my life back in order, a way to get my vehicle back to taking me to where I want to go, and possibly even new love to warm my heart up.
I’m looking forward to that last bit of sunshine the most.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Hands All Over
I am a shy person. Really, I am. I can talk so much better with my hands than with my mouth. When talking with my hands, there are none of those palm-sweaty eyes-meeting heart-pounding vibes that tie my tongue in knots and make the words that are supposed to come out stumble and fall back to the back of my throat. My hands only have these fingers that do what my brain tells them to do, to speak in such a way that has no sound but can yell with anger, cry in sadness, laugh in love and whisper in curiosity. But there is something lost when communicating through the written word; facial features that tell what a person is really thinking when talking, inflections that give clues to those who know what to search for, such as discovering a liar or receiving a profession of love from someone. So when writing, I try to make myself as clear as possible, but still use symbolism and analogy to make a point when I want to be subtle. My hands can do that. They can do lots of things; they can do whatever I tell them to do. Someone used to tell me that I had beautiful hands. I didn’t think so, but maybe they are. Maybe they are beautiful because they are mine and I can use them to convey a message my tongue is too afraid to deliver.
This glowing box in front of me is my window to the great big outside world beyond my geographical area. It holds many methods of communication. Indirectly via the worldwide web, time delayed with email, and almost instantly with the many types of instant messaging. With a camera, you can even see the person you are talking to. The keyboard attached to this glowing box is what my hands use to talk. I don’t even have to have someone to talk to. I can talk to myself with my hands through this medium. Although most of the words I say to myself I end up saying to the whole world anyway.
There is another small glowing box in my living room that hasn’t had much use in the past 6 months or so. I haven’t really missed it. It doesn’t call to me, taunting me with its endless entertainment possibilities…not that there is much of a varied choice of entertainment. Four or five choices are all it has to offer. Some things entice me, such as seeing parts of the world that I will never get the chance to actually visit, putting myself in the shoes of a person who I will never be, or filling my belly with laughter from really funny cartoon versions of families that I can relate to. I really used to like this box, but not so much anymore. Many nights have found me plopped down in front of it, remote control cradled in my hand, huddled there like a bundled up hobo, rubbing his hands over the fire, hoping to catch warmth on a chilly winter night.
Before I moved to my new place, an electrical surge fried my giant version of this box. 42 inches of entertainment with over 100 channels to choose from were gone with a loud noise and a small wisp of smoke. It also fried my stereo that supplied sound for this giant box. So when a friend of mine said he had a little television that he was giving away, I willingly accepted it. I still had the 100 plus channels to choose from, but they were condensed in size. It was a disappointing change of pace, but I still had my box of distractions. I soon discovered that the ability to have so many channels but still only watch a select handful of them was just not worth the money I had to pay to do so. At the dismay of my kids, I cancelled my cable subscription and joined the group of people who got their entertainment the old fashioned way…over the airwaves. But I didn’t do it right away. In fact, for a while, the only thing we watched were movies on DVD or VHS. Even when I moved to where there wasn’t even an option for cable (ok, there is satellite, but I still haven’t decided to start that subscription) I still didn’t hook up an antenna for the longest time. But now I have and the limited choices still don’t reel me in for a night of vegetative slouching.
Although I have run across some PBS specials that I enjoy. One that I enjoy is GlobeTrekker. The host goes to destinations around the world and documents the stay and the focal points of interest in each place. Pretty neat. There are other shows on there that are interesting, but most are, shall I say…boring. But, PBS is the only channel that usually comes in crystal clear. And when it does, the other channels are not so clear. Remember the days of dad moving the antenna and mom yelling “CLEAR!”? I’m living them all over again…except there is no one to move the antenna while I check for clarity. I have to use my hands to move the antenna, get up on a stool and look through the kitchen window and check for myself, get down, move the antenna, get back on the stool, and check and on and on till it is right. Anyway…I was actually watching something the other night that I never used to be into. Nighttime dramas like CSI, Cold Case, Bones, etc. This one I watched was an episode of Cold Case. This team investigates years old mysteries and solves them in less than an hour. Amazing. I don’t know if they do this at the end of every show, but after everyone was happy ever after and the mystery was solved, a song played while they did a little video wrap up. This song that was playing pulled at me. I’ve heard it before and I do love it. It is called “Hands” by Jewel.
If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after
We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
We are God's hands
We are God's hands
I just got laid off from my job. I used my hands there every day. I held onto tubes of titanium as they spun in a belt sander. I moved levers and measuring devices as I prepped those tubes to be made into bicycle frames. I carried bins of tubes to steel racks, felt the smoothness of each tube to ensure their preparedness level, and put on and removed personal protective equipment to protect my hands and eyes. I now am looking for another job to keep my hands busy. I will find one, I am sure. My hands need something to do. Maybe this new direction will give them something to do that they have never done before.
I would rather be doing something else with my hands. They love to pick up and hug my children. They love to run through long, flowing hair or tuck strands of it behind ears. They love to be pressed up against the back of a beautiful woman. They love to prepare food for others. They feel right at home nestled in the hands of a loved one. They love to be wrapped around a steering wheel and hold a camera. They like to push a pencil along a piece of paper to create works of art. They want to be a help to myself and especially a help to others. They will find something to do. But until then, and even ever after, they will continue to convey these thoughts that run through my mind into a readable format. They will be my tongue when my tongue is at rest. They will be a voice for my heart when my heart wants to cry out in joy, sadness or anger. My hands will speak for those parts of me that have no voice.
And you know what? They are mine…and they are beautiful.
This glowing box in front of me is my window to the great big outside world beyond my geographical area. It holds many methods of communication. Indirectly via the worldwide web, time delayed with email, and almost instantly with the many types of instant messaging. With a camera, you can even see the person you are talking to. The keyboard attached to this glowing box is what my hands use to talk. I don’t even have to have someone to talk to. I can talk to myself with my hands through this medium. Although most of the words I say to myself I end up saying to the whole world anyway.
There is another small glowing box in my living room that hasn’t had much use in the past 6 months or so. I haven’t really missed it. It doesn’t call to me, taunting me with its endless entertainment possibilities…not that there is much of a varied choice of entertainment. Four or five choices are all it has to offer. Some things entice me, such as seeing parts of the world that I will never get the chance to actually visit, putting myself in the shoes of a person who I will never be, or filling my belly with laughter from really funny cartoon versions of families that I can relate to. I really used to like this box, but not so much anymore. Many nights have found me plopped down in front of it, remote control cradled in my hand, huddled there like a bundled up hobo, rubbing his hands over the fire, hoping to catch warmth on a chilly winter night.
Before I moved to my new place, an electrical surge fried my giant version of this box. 42 inches of entertainment with over 100 channels to choose from were gone with a loud noise and a small wisp of smoke. It also fried my stereo that supplied sound for this giant box. So when a friend of mine said he had a little television that he was giving away, I willingly accepted it. I still had the 100 plus channels to choose from, but they were condensed in size. It was a disappointing change of pace, but I still had my box of distractions. I soon discovered that the ability to have so many channels but still only watch a select handful of them was just not worth the money I had to pay to do so. At the dismay of my kids, I cancelled my cable subscription and joined the group of people who got their entertainment the old fashioned way…over the airwaves. But I didn’t do it right away. In fact, for a while, the only thing we watched were movies on DVD or VHS. Even when I moved to where there wasn’t even an option for cable (ok, there is satellite, but I still haven’t decided to start that subscription) I still didn’t hook up an antenna for the longest time. But now I have and the limited choices still don’t reel me in for a night of vegetative slouching.
Although I have run across some PBS specials that I enjoy. One that I enjoy is GlobeTrekker. The host goes to destinations around the world and documents the stay and the focal points of interest in each place. Pretty neat. There are other shows on there that are interesting, but most are, shall I say…boring. But, PBS is the only channel that usually comes in crystal clear. And when it does, the other channels are not so clear. Remember the days of dad moving the antenna and mom yelling “CLEAR!”? I’m living them all over again…except there is no one to move the antenna while I check for clarity. I have to use my hands to move the antenna, get up on a stool and look through the kitchen window and check for myself, get down, move the antenna, get back on the stool, and check and on and on till it is right. Anyway…I was actually watching something the other night that I never used to be into. Nighttime dramas like CSI, Cold Case, Bones, etc. This one I watched was an episode of Cold Case. This team investigates years old mysteries and solves them in less than an hour. Amazing. I don’t know if they do this at the end of every show, but after everyone was happy ever after and the mystery was solved, a song played while they did a little video wrap up. This song that was playing pulled at me. I’ve heard it before and I do love it. It is called “Hands” by Jewel.
If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after
We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
We are God's hands
We are God's hands
I just got laid off from my job. I used my hands there every day. I held onto tubes of titanium as they spun in a belt sander. I moved levers and measuring devices as I prepped those tubes to be made into bicycle frames. I carried bins of tubes to steel racks, felt the smoothness of each tube to ensure their preparedness level, and put on and removed personal protective equipment to protect my hands and eyes. I now am looking for another job to keep my hands busy. I will find one, I am sure. My hands need something to do. Maybe this new direction will give them something to do that they have never done before.
I would rather be doing something else with my hands. They love to pick up and hug my children. They love to run through long, flowing hair or tuck strands of it behind ears. They love to be pressed up against the back of a beautiful woman. They love to prepare food for others. They feel right at home nestled in the hands of a loved one. They love to be wrapped around a steering wheel and hold a camera. They like to push a pencil along a piece of paper to create works of art. They want to be a help to myself and especially a help to others. They will find something to do. But until then, and even ever after, they will continue to convey these thoughts that run through my mind into a readable format. They will be my tongue when my tongue is at rest. They will be a voice for my heart when my heart wants to cry out in joy, sadness or anger. My hands will speak for those parts of me that have no voice.
And you know what? They are mine…and they are beautiful.
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