Spo-Reflections

Although it doesn’t rain much Arizona has a considerable amount of dust so cars get caked with a fine brown soot often enough to write rude words in it. That ain’t good. In response Someone got us memberships to the local carwash for unlimited washes per month. He hoped this ways we would go often and get our money’s worth, so every weekend usually after breakfast we go. At home is The Red Car and The White Car, officially neither owned by either but really The Red Car is mine and The White Car is his. This is important to the story as the frequency (and quality) of a car wash differs who is driving.

When I go to the car wash I get mild PTSD flashbacks remembering the many bungles in my teens to enter one. I could never get the front driver’s side tire to go neatly into the track. I still cringe thinking of the personnel yelling at me in my efforts. “Stupid teen” I hear them say. The youngsters managing the carwash now do not yell but they sometimes roll their eyes no doubt thinking “stupid old man’. Oh the pain. Someone never has problems entering the car wash, regardless of which car he is driving.

The local car wash is run and managed by folks who look no older than ten. The poor devils (both boys and girls) are obliged to wear clip-on bow-ties with white shirts, even in the heat of summer. I suppose the spray of the car wash helps. If I am driving I pause a little at the tollbooth to chat a bit with these kids, much to the chagrin of Someone who believes in getting through as soon as possible. If there is car ahead of us I want to wait a bit to put some distance between his backside and my front, lest there are ructions in the car wash conveyor belt. Someone sees no value of this, but once the car ahead of me failed to leave the exit and there was a pile up.

The actual carwash isn’t long but has several large swirling sponge-like contraptions. The shooting soap is in gay colors of yellow, blue, red, and purple. Sometimes it is merely white; it’s a disappointment.

They used to give out slightly moist towelletes upon checking in useful to wipe down the interior while the car slowly progresses through the tunnel of wash. But those were happier times I suppose and this cuts into the profits.

After the washing is accomplished there is an area for drying and vacuuming. This is where differences of opinion arise and sometimes there is savagery which (if all goes well) would lead to murders and suicide but for the fact the car was just cleaned.

I bring white hand towels to dry the door interiors and wipe down the windshield wipers. Rationalists in the house point out Duck Duck Go provides slightly damp towels for such matters but these are dark green. There is a slight satisfaction to see black grime on white washcloths, which I point out to Someone while doing my best Captain Bly/Mr. Christian routine. I am particular about the insides of the doors which are often grimy and wet and need a good wipe down – like my men.

Someone’s area of expertise is vacuuming; he does a much better job than I at blowing dirt out and such. I do an OK-enough job what he calls A Poor One; after I do my side he comes around to point out the bits I didn’t get. By the way I handle the public vacuum hose by first wrapping it with one of the provide dark green cloths, a trick I learned during COVID days and have kept going. On occasion the suction will make a grab at the towel’s corner and wow! there it goes! Hey laughing boy! No more towel! Oh the embarrassment.

Somehow we manage to get in and out of the place without ructions and come home in a clean car – temporarily. On the way home I use the white towels now damp to wipe down the inside area or at least is in arm’s reach sitting in the passenger seat. There is a satisfaction having a clean car; it seems to drive better in some way for being clean.

I’ve been informed by thems who know this sort of thing the waning moon is in Capricorn and this means for Cancer types (hey, that’s me!) things are up to no good that’s certain and we should retreat crablike back into the ocean and stay there, perhaps until Jupiter (or one of that crowd) moves into Capricorn and fixes things. Normally I don’t care tuppence what says my horoscope, but this advice is fine by me. It is a good time to crawl into one’s shell. The Felon is doing all sorts of shenanigans causing my savings to plummet and it takes a small fortune to fill the gas tank.* We stopped doing ‘financial Fridays’ when we count our pennies as it is too painful to look at nowadays.  

Work has been strained as of late what with trying to get all the charts up to date, all the I-s dotted and all T-s crossed – all this on top of the usual clinical needs. Most of my woes at work are tech problems, for which there is vague but uninvolved tech-support who is off-site – orbiting one of the moons of Jupiter probably. The Medical Assistant gave notice and goodness knows what will happen when she leaves. I go home rawther tired more often than not and wish to go to bed by seven. 

Happily there is nothing scheduled this weekend and I don’t lots to catch up with. Even if I wanted to go out the pollen level is thick as fog and makes breathing a miserable past time. A neighborhood lady answered my Neighborhood post for the free Santa Claus sack of fabric scraps.  It is a good knowing someone will make good use of them. She represents a quilting club that makes quilts for women in shelters. I hope they like gaudy brightly colored patterns. 

I wish the moon would hurry up and wane into Pisces or Sagittarius I forget which direction it goes nowadays. The March equinox occurs around 745 am local time 20 March; I forget what that means in astrology other than we will have more sunshine than not, which isn’t groovy in my book.

I think it may be time to change signs, Leo perhaps. It’s a nice sign; please don’t feed it buns and things.

*I remember a time there was a spike in gas prices and stickers of President Biden appeared on the tanks, saying “I did this”. Last time I looked there is no equivalent Trump stickers saying the same. I recently heard he is said higher gas prices are good that we (meaning him I suppose) will make a lot of money. I

In the series ‘Sandman’ a group of siblings meet for a family meeting. One of the members, Destruction, is absent. Before the story in the series starts Destruction had left his realm and went into hiding a long time ago and far away. At this reunion, the youngest member of The Endless, Delirium, asks her siblings (who all miss Dettruction) why don’t they do something about the situation. 

“Don’t you ever wonder where he is or if he is OK or anything? Why don’t we ever try to find him?” Delirium says. 

“Because he explicitly asked us not to.” says Destiny (the eldest and in charge)

“Yes,” Delirium replies, “but that is sometimes that’s what you say when you want to find out if anyone cares enough not to listen.”

This scene touches me for in my life I’ve had a handful of folks for whom I’ve cared deeply ho have disappeared on me. I would like them in my life.  There are many in the category I call ‘benign severance’. If I were to call or email them, they are genuinely delighted to hear from me and I am happy to hear them. However this is always one-sided; I do all the reaching out. If I were to play a little game with myself and wait to see if they contact me, this doesn’t happen. Someone does not care for such inequities. He ends the friendship when the he’s always the one who reaches out.  I foolishly hold on to them.

There is another category of exiles, more dark. I sense they left because they are angry or hurt. My intuition tells me I did something or didn’t do something. Perhaps I didn’t tell them I was in town and they found out. Maybe I said something of which they took umbrage. It would be a done deal but I still have feelings for them. There is a sense if we processed what happened, the wounds would heal and we would become friends. Do I act as Destiny does viz. respecting the wishes of the literal word of the departed or do I do what Delirium wants and plans to do, which is go looking for him? 

What comes to mind is a particular friend, I will call X. Once upon a time X was part of my life and then rather suddenly he wasn’t. Calls, emails etc. were not returned. I sense that when X gets angry at others he cuts them off; I wouldn’t be the first one he has done this to. Every day I see him in a group photo and it makes me remember the good times and wonder how he is doing and what happened. 

I probably hold onto false hope. Whatever the reason(s), he isn’t wanting to tell me nor is he interested in reconciling. The man in the photo is gone and the time cannot be recreated. It saddens me, I would like to know what happened. That too is something I won’t get. 

In ‘Sandman’ Delirium convinces her other brother Dream to help her go look for him. I won’t spoil what happens but it is bittersweet and painful. However she doesn’t regret her reaching out.  Perhaps I will send out one more email saying I hope you are OK and I miss you. He might respond with ‘cease and desist’ or tear me to pieces in an angry reply. More likely I get another silence, but there is a slim chance X respond as Delirium wonders: he’s been hoping someone will try.  

Ah! The weekend!  While there is work to be done, it will be done at my pace and at my preference. I am waiting for various shops to open, most of them at ten o’clock.  Thems like me (viz. old) rise early and this time feels like half the day is gone. I went at 6AM to the breakfast shop and finically finished one of my books.*  I got groceries afterwards. When I shop, I bring a handful of canvas bags with me. I play a little game with myself: can I get out of the store sans plastic bags? (that means without). I got it all done but for the fruit, worse luck. I was happy to find Uncle Albertson had passionfruit. Now I have to figure out how to prepare them, preferably pureed and served with rum over ice. 

One of today’s tasks is to go to Ye Olde Fabric Shoppe and consult somebody what do I do to finish my quilt. Do I take a course, hire a tutor, or buy a to-it-yourself quit kit?  When I enter the fabric store I enter with a little smile and see how thems inside will respond to me. Sometimes I feel like the bad man in the black hat in a cowboy movie going into the saloon: all noise stops and all eyes turn to me with apprehension to see what am I up to. Quilting is a woman’s world (mostly) and I am sometimes seen as an object of suspicion, an interloper.  I think this time not; I will be applauded for trying.  

Someone conveniently went to work today, leaving me to do all the house chores but I will have solitude as well. What with traveling we have been more or less together nonstop for a few weeks. While I love my spouse it is nice to have some time to myself.  I can play music he doesn’t care to hear, and I can put things way the proper way, not what others say is correct.

Yesterday Duolingo told me I achieved 2500 days of daily language lessons. This is both amazing and a disappointment. If the point of learning a language is to speak it and understand what others are saying, than I get an F grade.  I need to hire someone to speak with on a regular basis. Speaking of hiring folks, it is high time to hire a housekeeper; I am tired of doing it myself. Unfortunately, our savings went south this week, thanks to shenanigans in the Middle East and you-know-who, so Someone won’t be keen on spending money.

Well that’s all the news. I am off to the dry cleaners to return hangers; we have heaps. The dirty red luggage goes to the cleaners as well. I hope for a Costco run, provided it isn’t too overwhelming.

Like Violetta, I live for pleasure, but I don’t sing as well. 

*The book was ‘Roman Ivory’ written by my friend Robert Bruegmann. I started reading it out of friendly obligation but soon realized it was a page-turner. Hot puppies! A TGR (thumping good read)! That is what I like best in a book: it keeps your interest and makes you want to keep reading it. The book is set in 19th Europe and it tells of the closeted men of that time and how they lived a hidden and underground lives. Bob periodically inserts some rawther graphic action scenes into the story, so it is not for the faint of heart. 

Patience above! What a week it has been. There are shenanigans happening at work, drama at many levels that I won’t go into details other than to assure the Spo-fans Urs Truly is safe (for now). But it is all quite the time suck. Between work-related matters and (still) unpacking at home I’ve had little time to blog, worse luck. Not that there is much to blog about; I lead a dull life, or at least a mundane one. This weekend’s mission is ‘get caught up’ with laundry, errands, paperwork, and whatever else needs to be done.

“Be still, and know that I am G-d” also applies for good composition. It is hard to think of something deep or funny upon which to write when one is distracted by daily doings like a hoard of gnats

Not to be worrying! The laundry, chores, and what-not will all be done in time (they always do) and the drama at work will settle somehow, just in time for another round. Behind every mountain is another mountain; I’ve gotten through worse.

Meanwhile for thems who play Wordle, here is one of my attempts from early this week:

It wasn’t accepted as a proper word. Stirges

I differ from George Washington. George could not tell a lie. I can, but I won’t. – Mark Twain

Who does that [a nice gesture] ? Good people do things like that, hence the reasons we don’t understand it. – Stevie, from Schitt’s Creek

There is a lot of talk about sociopaths these days. They are not the majority by a long shot, but their exploits and shenanigans make for sensational headlines and good television drama. Most folks are ‘normal’ that they can be sociopathic at times, but not all the time – or so we hope.

Jungians abhor imbalance. If something is out of whack, one-sided, its opposite occurs to balance The Universe. Sociopaths have for their counterpart something I call Good People. They are the angel counterparts to the devils of sociopathy.These remarkable types seem wired to be incapable of doing bad. The trouble is they don’t make headlines; they are almost invisible in their actions.

My Aunt Ruth was a Good People. I never knew her not to immediately offer assistance or be anything other than cheerful. She would walk the world over to get a blade of grass that you wanted. We kids learned not to think out loud a half-fancy desire at the dinner table, as she would get up and dash to the kitchen to fetch it for you. In restaurants she would always want to pay the bill and on the way home she would give the leftovers in the doggy bag to any peddler she saw – even going up to them to ask if they were hungry. If she read of someone in need of a kidney, she would wonder if she was a match. Family members less good thought she was crackers to consider donating a kidney to a total stranger, but for Aunt Ruth the gesture would be natural as breathing.

They can’t help it really, the Good People, no more than The Sociopaths at the other end of the spectrum who cannot fathom empathy or compassion. Both ends are bewildered by anyone who doesn’t think and behave like they do. Interesting Good People are often experienced as more annoying than not. You want at times to slap their smiles off the face. You want them to swear a bit, be a tad selfish, even uncaring ‘and prove you’re human’. On the other hand they never preach or nag for you to do likewise. That is not in their nature.

Thems with more complex make ups who have both the descending angel and the rising ape in them, this is tough as mindfulness and choice are ever present. I think it better to have a Shadow side, just as long as it doesn’t run the show.

I am not a Good Person, worse luck. I learned that early on. All my life I try to be good in what I do and with others, but I have to work at it and decide to do so. On the other hand I am not a Sociopath either, although its elements in me often call me to go over to The Dark Side. I sometimes tell patients there isn’t much difference between Hannibal Lector and myself that we both know all the mind tricks. The difference is he uses his skills to eat people and I use mine to heal. However on occasion I get in touch with my inner-Hannibal to take over to write prior authorization letters to insurance companies to scare the sh-t out of them to approve coverage. It’s not pretty but it works and I admit it is jolly good fun to do so.