"Lest you become another tale"

This is not the photograph I originally planned to run with this post. It was to have been one of my most recent acquisition among firearms: A Smith & Wesson Model 36 revolver -- another .38 Special. That can wait and will appear another day. I have been having cable television / internet / landline problems the past few days, and this morning a technician arrived to cure the trouble. Apparently, my buddies, the squirrels, had damaged the connecting line and it had to be replaced. As I watched the workman, I immediately saw the link between his task and some of my words in this post -- the difference between a life of physical toil and one of mental toil. No doubt this man's tasks require knowledge and skill, but his occupation primarily centers on physical exertion outdoors in any and all kinds of weather -- extreme heat, harsh cold, snow, rain or, if fortunate, a "mellow" autumn day as today was here. My thoughts then raced on to this: While I have done any number of physical acts requiring difficulty and even extreme hardship, how long would I have lasted had my life been destined with no work more challenging than stringing cable with sun scorching my face one day and sleet stinging it the next? I do not think I would have lasted long living such a life. How does he do it? How does anyone do it .... walk in the same footsteps day after day until he can no longer walk?

The first verse of "Tales" -- a song
written by Ken Hensley
performed by the band Uriah Heep:

We told our tales as we sat under
Morning's sleepy sky
With all the colors of
The sunrise shining in our eyes

Give me a head with hair .... 

.... but first, I cannot understand it. I continue to be in a good mood. Sort of happy, actually.... inexplicably?

It might be because the weather has been good (with the exception of one torrential and a few lesser rainfalls) and because I have been doing yard work -- physical work -- preparing for winter. In terms of occupational work, ninety percent of my life probably has been spent doing mental work and ten percent doing physical work. I mean actual work -- not exercising or playing sports or running.

 

There is a significant difference in levels and states of exhaustion reached between these two "life styles." For me, nothing is so refreshing as physical work after a long period without it. Exercise or running do not help .... I do not understand why, but it has to be real physical work in order to rejuvenate my mind (and, my spirit ??) and to tire my body so that it truly can get the rest it requires.

Also contributing to my uncharacteristic mood, I am in something less than a serious / organized / logical state of mind at the moment. I think the complete, absolute, total ridiculousness of the two primary candidates for the office of president of the United States has reduced the level of intellectual thought to zero in this country and, subsequently, everything seems to be a bad joke these days and there is nothing which can be done about the situation except laugh in something approaching a hysterical manner.

It is blatantly obvious that extremist, absolutist adherents to polarizing positions have reduced both major political parties -- Republican and Democrat -- to comedic, yet tragic, entities. And, we, the people, likely will suffer for it for a generation or longer. (Does that make sense ?? Never mind .... never mind .... I cannot stop laughing ....)

Rock on & whatever ....

.... but I really am here today to relate an experience which struck me as ironically funny:

A few days ago, I was going to a tailor shop at a location where I never previously had been to drop off a pair of trousers. (Actually, it was new, winter / snow camouflage pants ordered over the internet and which came only in one inseam length .... needed to cut off a couple of inches. Camo gear still serves a purpose for me on occasion, he says with a crooked grin and a wink.)

Anyway .... I spotted the tailor shop sign and pulled into a nearby parking space. I grabbed my package and, without paying attention, left the car and walked to the doorway of the nearest store. Through the doorway I went, and found myself looking at four barbers, each sitting in his barber chair reading a magazine or a newspaper, passing time while waiting for customers. My mouth, assuredly, dropped open just a bit.

All four barbers stared at me. I have let my hair go again, and it is a few inches beyond shoulder length. That day, I had it in a pony tail.

"I think I am in the wrong place," I said, caught between a smile and laugh at the irony of the situation. "I thought this was the tailor shop."

"Next door," replied one of the barbers.

"Well, I suppose you think I could use a haircut and this might be the right place for me," I said, turning in profile to them while reaching a hand back and flicking my pony tail a few times.

"I do," said the nearest of the barbers, displaying his own smile and nodding his head to emphasize his words. He put his magazine down and started to get out of his chair.

I was tempted to ask, "What days does Delilah work?" .... but, every once and a while I manage to hold my tongue, so, instead, I said .... "Not today, guys. Sooner or later, I suppose, but not today .... and, I promise to remember how to find this place when and if the time should ever come."

I backed out of the door like a gunslinger making a hurried exit from a saloon in a Western film.... hmmmm .... my baby loves the Western movies .... sorry, I could not resist another rock 'n' roll allusion ....

That might be the story of my life .... going in the wrong door and backing out of it ....