The '81 Chevy pickup glares back at me as I shuffle back to the imprisoning corrugated iron building.
Two and a half months of my life have ticked away while I perform my mindless day-to-day activities.
Such repetetive duty. What good comes from a summer where 8 hours of every day are spent taming the wild blades of grass and slapping healthy shine down on a series of well-trodden hallways?
"Hummmm...", sounds the floor buffing machine. It sings its song of spite as I lead in this dance of janitorial work. Week after week this ill-tempered siren calls out to me demanding my attention. I am always at its mercy, for I always answer its call.
As if to antagonize my last nerves, the menacing kamikaze water pipes erupt underneath the surface leaving no choice but to spend hours digging, repairing, and replacing the moved sod.
This is what I do.
This is what I do to make money.
Sitting atop the iron boar, I turn the key. He growls and remains unmoved. I play a bit with the choke and I thrust repeatedly on his pedal. He groans preturbed and does not budge. Fed up with its insolence, I reach for the ether. After a generous helping, this beast is at my will.
There is undoubtedly no other place on earth with as many unyielding engines as what I have encountered here. Anything with a cord to pull or a key to turn proves intolerable.
With much effort, my body twists and contorts itself in order to maximize effectiveness...to no avail. The gasoline-powered blower is in no better condition now as it was before I burned approximately 230 calories simply by exercising the muscles in my upper and lower arms.
The sweat beads all throughout my mop of hair and pours down my brow in currents strong enough to throw a small dingy off course. My arms tense up as the rapid vibrations from the dated weed-eater send my body in to shock. Fifteen minutes after I am finished with my sorrowful task of trimming all that the Grasshopper brand riding lawnmower could not reach, I sit, still vibrating, hoping to regain normal muscle control.
As I perform all my duties I have plenty of time to think, seeing as how my mind is obviously not caught up in deep contemplation of each of my tasks.
I decide that my seemingly insignificant job must hold some meaning.
Why on earth could an artist such as myself be caught up in such work?
Why?
Because it serves to bring out the freshness and beauty of art.
All my heart desires is to acheive my own self-set potential in my art form.
Ever artist, performers especially, need desperately to take part in a job such as my current one.
A job that requires a great deal of manual labor for relatively low pay is usually one that Americans label as "blue collar." - Janitors, maintenence workers, construction workers, and the like.
The reason I make such a strong general statement is that these hard-work jobs culminate a great deal of humility.
Humility that is learned only through experience.
"Don't go over there and get a big ego. Stay just as sweet as you are."
A lump rose in my throat. I gave a quick good-bye so she wouldn't see the tears welling up in my eyes.
My grandmother's sincere words pierced my heart.
In the car with Davie, the tears came.
"She may not be here when I come back," I said, wiping away tears and inhaling vigorously through my nose to avoid an unsightly run.
"I have to take advantage of the time I have with her because she may not have too many years left."
Her health is worsening, and now she can barely.
Though her God-given vessel is failing her, her heart beats true.
This I know from the emotions her simple words evoked: "Stay just as sweet as you are."
"What are we going to do without you?" were her words immediately before she broke my heart with her kindness.
I could tell that she knew she may never see me again once I leave for Wales.
What that must be like! To feel your health begin to fail you. Oh how I wish I could empathize, but I cannot.
Therefore, I will obey her wishes and keep my ego subdued. That is one of the greatest services I believe I can give my grandmother...
So I will finish out my sentence at this intolerable Ag Research Center
To gain humility
To stay just as sweet as I am.
Two and a half months of my life have ticked away while I perform my mindless day-to-day activities.
Such repetetive duty. What good comes from a summer where 8 hours of every day are spent taming the wild blades of grass and slapping healthy shine down on a series of well-trodden hallways?
"Hummmm...", sounds the floor buffing machine. It sings its song of spite as I lead in this dance of janitorial work. Week after week this ill-tempered siren calls out to me demanding my attention. I am always at its mercy, for I always answer its call.
As if to antagonize my last nerves, the menacing kamikaze water pipes erupt underneath the surface leaving no choice but to spend hours digging, repairing, and replacing the moved sod.
This is what I do.
This is what I do to make money.
Sitting atop the iron boar, I turn the key. He growls and remains unmoved. I play a bit with the choke and I thrust repeatedly on his pedal. He groans preturbed and does not budge. Fed up with its insolence, I reach for the ether. After a generous helping, this beast is at my will.
There is undoubtedly no other place on earth with as many unyielding engines as what I have encountered here. Anything with a cord to pull or a key to turn proves intolerable.
With much effort, my body twists and contorts itself in order to maximize effectiveness...to no avail. The gasoline-powered blower is in no better condition now as it was before I burned approximately 230 calories simply by exercising the muscles in my upper and lower arms.
The sweat beads all throughout my mop of hair and pours down my brow in currents strong enough to throw a small dingy off course. My arms tense up as the rapid vibrations from the dated weed-eater send my body in to shock. Fifteen minutes after I am finished with my sorrowful task of trimming all that the Grasshopper brand riding lawnmower could not reach, I sit, still vibrating, hoping to regain normal muscle control.
As I perform all my duties I have plenty of time to think, seeing as how my mind is obviously not caught up in deep contemplation of each of my tasks.
I decide that my seemingly insignificant job must hold some meaning.
Why on earth could an artist such as myself be caught up in such work?
Why?
Because it serves to bring out the freshness and beauty of art.
All my heart desires is to acheive my own self-set potential in my art form.
Ever artist, performers especially, need desperately to take part in a job such as my current one.
A job that requires a great deal of manual labor for relatively low pay is usually one that Americans label as "blue collar." - Janitors, maintenence workers, construction workers, and the like.
The reason I make such a strong general statement is that these hard-work jobs culminate a great deal of humility.
Humility that is learned only through experience.
"Don't go over there and get a big ego. Stay just as sweet as you are."
A lump rose in my throat. I gave a quick good-bye so she wouldn't see the tears welling up in my eyes.
My grandmother's sincere words pierced my heart.
In the car with Davie, the tears came.
"She may not be here when I come back," I said, wiping away tears and inhaling vigorously through my nose to avoid an unsightly run.
"I have to take advantage of the time I have with her because she may not have too many years left."
Her health is worsening, and now she can barely.
Though her God-given vessel is failing her, her heart beats true.
This I know from the emotions her simple words evoked: "Stay just as sweet as you are."
"What are we going to do without you?" were her words immediately before she broke my heart with her kindness.
I could tell that she knew she may never see me again once I leave for Wales.
What that must be like! To feel your health begin to fail you. Oh how I wish I could empathize, but I cannot.
Therefore, I will obey her wishes and keep my ego subdued. That is one of the greatest services I believe I can give my grandmother...
So I will finish out my sentence at this intolerable Ag Research Center
To gain humility
To stay just as sweet as I am.
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