“Stuff.” That’s a good word for it. Just bunches of ‘stuff’ here lately . . .
It started Thursday, when I discovered our daughter’s dog, which I’ve been keeping here while she moved (last year) ate up about $200 in material and labor, chewing out the last of the deck skirt’s lattice and digging a hole in the center garden about two feet deep and twelve inches wide, slinging dirt all over the raised octagon . . . it used to be such a beautiful thing . . .
But now between three of the worst dogs I’ve ever owned – and over five thousand dollars in property damage since I got them three years ago – it makes me sick to walk in the yard. Every garden has been ruined – they even ripped down the wire netting! – chewed up the bulbs (the light ones, not the garden ones); pulled up (and down) wiring . . . dug under the foundation of one outbuilding until its corner sunk (and now the building needs jacked up and a new footing put in) . . . those damages haven’t even begun to begin to be addressed . . .
and yet I keep on stubbornly hanging onto them. Not because I love them – I don’t love them no more – but because I look at them as an excersize in patience and stuff.
“Nothing lasts forever,” I’m often fond of telling my wife, and to tell you the truth, I’ve been looking forward past a thousand years or more. No longer are ‘things’ important . . .
There’s a bit of a blessing in that, and a bit of aggravation, too.
Friday my Mustand finally broke down. I can’t complain. It’s run solid – not a lick of trouble! – since I got it in 2001, and it was a used car at that. But it happened to ‘stop’, choking . . . gasping in the feed lot here in town (I happened to stop to get my 50 pounds of birdseed I buy every month) . . . I figure the fuel pump is down. I used to be a Master Mechanic with 6 years of education and almost 16 years of experience under the hood . . . I know a little bit about everything about how an automobile is made. Helped when I got tired of cussing engineers and decided to join them . . .
But I found I lost my patience with that thing, and a lot of them here lately . . . over the past year or so . . .
Funny thing is, I’m much better with people at this time than ‘things’.
My laptop quit working – or at least the internet connection did. (I wonder if it’s the card.) Everything else connects – including this dinky netbook I have – except that laptop. Even direct wire connect straight to the modem: no good. I’m going to take it to McDonalds for the free wi-fi check – as soon as I get my car back from the shop. If it connects there but not at home, that tells me something: it’s in the software configuration, and not a hardware problem.
Learning (or relearning) to give a flying flip about the things going on “today” is hard – and even harder on my patience.
We began asking ourselves years ago what anything matters. I know “I” got it down one time when I was thirteen: “What’s anything matter in a thousand years or two? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand or more? A million? Or a billion?”
At the very most all that could be said is “I was here.”
And even then that disappears, like a mote into the darkness; a spark in the distance, burning out, guttering into the history of time . . .
Everything mankind is, has, or ever does isn’t going to matter in a few billion years, give or take a billion or two. The only ‘thing’ left will be the Voyagers, assuming we send nothing more out of this system – and especially if we stay on earth.
Imagine the earth rotating through the sun’s millions-of-degrees corona . . . 4.5 billion years from now.
There’s gonna be nothing left but a melted crust.
So what’s anything matter – long run?
What is the meaning in life?
Is there a meaning? (musing)
If there is one, given all this, I suppose one could say “It’s to be happy – WITHOUT stuff. Without anything at ALL.”
That would be a nice way to be.
Minus all the anger and stuff.