Failing to Arrive

Maybe it's just me, but I grew up believing there would come a time when I would Arrive. Stupid would be behind me and Wisdom and Experience would cloak me in Grace. Every step on my path was with that intention. I passed road signs that made me think I was Arriving....

I know what poison ivy looks like AND how to deal with it. I've learned enough about physics to know that anything with wheels is to be respected and if it has a motor, too---well damn, you'd just best be on your best behavior.

Judy Collins songs have entirely new meanings, and Paul Simon isn't really speaking to me personally.

I've learned my place on the planet and my responsibilities to Earth, and Her two-legged and four-legged children. (I'm still working on the legless ones that slither, but wholly shit I can't quite get there). With the exception of mosquitoes, I don't attack anything that bites me. I'm learning that “turning the other cheek” is not a sacrifice, it's a joy. I try every day to be a better person with random, occasional success. I speak less and with more sweetness. I fully embrace that Humility is NOT weakness, and Power is not a club but a gift to share with others. I'm getting better about where I lay my pearls and when I make a mistake I don't get pissed at the pigs.

So I've worked at all these things really hard and somewhere along the way I started wondering if maybe, just maybe I was close to arriving. Do I really, REALLY need any more BIG Lessons? You want to believe you've reached an age and understanding that will allow you to coast comfortably towards comfort. Which is not to say that I expected my end times to be easy. Just manageable.

Here's a tip. When the question “Am I There yet?” becomes the declaration “I have Arrived.” you have just so screwed yourself. You have a painted a HUGE bull's eye target on the top of your head, and there is nothing the gods enjoy more than humans who paint their own targets.

I thought I was still asking the question, but somewhere in the past couple of weeks I was so desperate for strength that I gave myself the pep talk that included the declaration--”you can do this....you've Arrived.” Well, Fuck me very much.


I went outside early this morning, properly attired and sprayed to brave the mosquitoes. I had a plan. I would NOT allow myself to be overwhelmed by the force of Nature and weeks of rain and neglect. I would eat the elephant one bite at a time. I would be Zen. I would be Winnie the Pooh himself. I would shut out the other voices and just listen to Otis. (my buddha doesn't speak, he just is). It would just be me and Otis and my buddha and we would pull weeds, carry water, and we would live in the moment.

I transformed the patio from the chaos it was into something very serene. The last step to perfection was to set up the fountain. This could be done with one major exception—lifting and positioning a huge granite stone into place and feeding the tubing through the hole so that the pump can spill water up and out and trickle into the pound providing both audio and visual esthetics sublime.

I actually spent 45 seconds considering if and how I could possibly accomplish this task without destroying my back so that I would never work or walk again. I gave up on that quickly and wisely and wandered aimlessly into the garden, cutting buds off garlic, pulling random weeds, applying supports to the heavily budded lilies. I was trying to stay Zen. I was trying to feel my buddha and listen to Otis. But the paths were screaming at me beneath the weeds that were choking them out. My beautiful stone and pebble paths that crunched softly and exquisitely beneath the feet. The plants are Richards. The paths were mine. I planned and built and groomed them as one does a prize rose. I bought solar lights to adorn the paths that are still in the box. Rich's plants and weeds have taken over and my paths are suffocating beneath them. In an instant Otis ran, I couldn't feel my buddha anymore and Sniffles was gearing up. (Scrapper and Comic observe the Sabbath so they're off today).

Used to be that my best friend was in the garden with me and we would shield each other from discouragement, and relish the endeavor and share the joy of our accomplishments. I have to dump on this blog because my best friend is occupied with his affair with cancer, poor man, and I am failing miserably at keeping his blessed garden in tact. Now I have to gear up to clean the house and attack the dishes and laundry, and the grocery store, so I can go back to work on Monday with the chaos subdued to a dull roar, and I have not Arrived at all.

As much as I could continue to wallow in this, it's 10:00 am, and if I don't get a move on I won't beat the Church people to the grocery store. Trust me, you do not want to be in the grocery store past noon on Sunday when the church people arrive and glide through the aisles with Holy entitlement to amazing levels of Rude that don't count because Jesus is their Savior. (Go back to sleep, Scrapper...)


Sometimes there's just nothing for it save a hot shower.