Discovering My Muse

I jumped into the old blue truck. I vowed I’d never ride in it. Only the Lord knows what crawls around in it. The dogs have claimed it as their home on wheels for taking naps and riding with Al around the property.

Al has stuffed an old pillow in the deep hole in the driver’s seat. A pair of vice scripts is mounted on the window crank. No key is necessary. The dash is full of junk, like screws and nails, old cans, large Sonic cups and a couple of dog toys. There’s a bowl of water sloshing around for the dogs and a bunch of tools, battery cables and chains on the floorboard.

I think it’s My Sweet Al’s primal masculine instinct that makes him feel empowered driving around with his two dogs in that horrible truck. But, I don’t have time to worry about it now. I’m on a mission. I found another pile of old wood and tin lying by the side of the house. I whipped the truck around and picked up more trash. This out-of-sight-out-of-mind thing has got to go. And I’m getting rid of all of it.

An eighteen-yard-commercial dumpster was dropped off on Thursday. It’s scheduled to be picked up on Saturday. We’ve got a lot of work to do. The dumpster was empty. Now we’ve stacked it and it’s brimming above the top and over the sides with garage sale and leftover building material.

I came into the house for a break. I looked out the window and saw My Sweet Al circling the dumpster like a hungry vulture. If they don’t pick up the dumpster soon, all that junk will be back in his garage.

I had to act quickly. I couldn’t let that happen, everything had been brought out of his garage for the garage sale. The sale is over and if I have anything to say about it, that junk is all going to the dump. I called him in for lunch. Surely there’s something in the refrigerator I could whip up in a hurry.

I rang the bell, motioned him to the house and yelled. “Lunch is ready.”

He came in, washed up and I asked him, “What were you doing looking in that dumpster?”

“What were doing looking at me? A wife shouldn’t find fault with her husband.”

“No fault. I’m discovering my muse.” I spoke in Greek.

“That doesn’t make sense. Speak in English.”

“Well, it does to me. I was studying my Greek, and I found a word that’s really powerful. It’s a compound word, epignosko. Epi is a preposition and means to come upon and gnosko is knowledge. It means to come upon and discover something.”

Al sat down at the empty table and looked around for something to eat. “I thought you said lunch was ready. People get tired of you talking Greek all the time.”

“Well, this word is really important. In the context of this scripture, it has a future middle ending, it means, as I’m discovering you, I’m discovering myself.”

Al took a gulp of ice tea and looked at his empty plate.

I busied myself in the kitchen. I had to keep Al away from the dumpster, I distracted him with another thought. “You’re going to find this very interesting. I believe this is the truth. When people judge someone, they shut their mind to that person and they quit discovering who that person is. They also stop discovering themselves and who they can be.”

I opened a can of refried beans, crumbled up some seasoned hamburger meat, grabbed a floured tortilla, added shredded cheese and put the cold tortilla in front of him. I cut up some lettuce and tomatoes and put the hot sauce on the table. I sat down.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry, it’s only ten o’clock.”

“Why did you call me in?”

“You looked hungry. Here’s another thought. Do you think that’s why someone gets divorced? They quit getting excited about their mate. They judge them, it stops the flow and they can’t see who God has created them to be. So, that’s why I was looking at you looking at all that trash, and wondering what in the world you were thinking. You’ve become my muse. I’m discovering you.”

“I’m not sure what you’re up to. You’re acting funny.”

My friend reminded me of something she read. Not until the artist puts down his brush is the painting finished. Until then, no one, but the artist knows what that piece of art is suppose to look like. My Sweet Al doesn’t complain about a cold tortilla or being the subject for my writings. He needs that old truck for empowering and I need to keep learning Greek to keep him excited and keep me interesting. I don’t think its working.

Final Brushstroke! I told my friend that’s why I finish my articles with a final brushstroke. It’s all I have to say about the matter. Let’s hope the Lord keeps the brush in his hand for a long time and has a lot more to say about My Sweet Al. Everyday I discover more about him. He’s got the most beautiful heart, and I need to stay sweet, keep my heart open, and stay out of his old blue truck. It’s the old adage, “Out of sight, out of mind.”

When is Enough, Enough?

The ad read, "Estate Sale, 45 years of accumulated items." It wasn’t exaggerating.

The garage sale was successful and you saved Sweet Al from the hands of a frustrated woman on a determined mission.

A man asked, "Who died?"

"No one died, but one man will, if he puts one more thing back into his garage.”

Another customer asked,  "Is this a Multi-family garage sale?"

“No, it's a multi-garage sale. Seven garage bays full of stuff.”

Another customer said, “It was a long drive, but seeing all this stuff with my own eyes made it worth the drive.”

I saw a man leaving and asked him what he had. He showed me a dead turtle. He said he was giving the turtle a new home. The turtle’s head and feet were petrified from either fright or it had turned to stone.

Another asked, “Where did all this stuff come from?”

“It’s a long story. My Sweet Al can’t say no and his brother said “I do,” four times too many. The newest wife didn't want the previous wife’s stuff. He’d tell Al he had to make his new wife happy so take all the stuff away. It ended up in Al’s garage. His wives were unhappy and are all history. Al’s wife will soon be happy when all their stuff is history.

Our son moved out of the country. We acquired his household items. We were saving it for him, but it’s been in the garage for the last ten years. It’s time to let go.

Al's mother passed away in '92, it took him months to sort through her accumulated things. Too many memories, he couldn’t let go, so they came to his garage.

We sold our home next door. A lot of stuff came to Al’s garage.

Seven ice cream makers were in question. We used to have ice cream socials at our church. I'd pick up a freezer every time I saw one at a thrift store. We have a lot of history of what we did and how we were. But it was another time. It’s not happening again today.

Before the big day, our grandson came by to help. As he carried out a bag of cat food, he asked, "When did Granddad have a cat?"

"Never. He's never had a cat."

He asked, "Where's Granddad now?"

"He's in the bay next door. He's clinging, while we're cleaning. He's remembering, while we're throwing. He’s bonding, but not for long. We’re going to tackle that bay next."

Our children came from California to Pagosa for their vacation with the primary goal to help us. We have spent two weeks sorting through stuff. Our daughter thanked me for getting rid of this stuff now and not waiting until we pass on. Her husband took charge and it wouldn't have happened without him.

Our daughter and son-in-law from Pagosa came to clean up afterward. They did not show mercy. They had moved this stuff for the last time. They made two piles, thrift store and dump. The dump pile was bigger. A big commercial dumpster is coming on Thursday.

Our other daughter used her day off for the sale.  It took the whole family to get the job done. I told them, this is a cause to celebrate. Pick a restaurant. Your Daddy is buying.

The kids thought we should set up a Kodak moment and let customers take pictures of Sweet Al and his junk. Heaven help us all. I hope our lives count for more than this accumulated junk. Thousand of dollars spent at one time or another by people who had to have it.

Final Brushstroke: Every item has a story and is part of our history. Someone is enjoying a part of our family's history and Sweet Al’s wife is happy. It’s a win win. There comes a time when enough is enough.

Price of Red Iron

I purchased five additional strips of red iron for our metal building and wondered if the streets in heaven were made from it. They’re worth their weight in gold. I needed the extra structural steel when I decided to use some old windows that belonged to our kids.  Our daughter and son-in-law bought new windows and the old windows ended up in Al’s garage. Now I’m using them in MY garage.

I would’ve been money ahead if I hadn’t found those discarded windows. It’s all Al’s fault. When I saw the stack of old windows, I had a light bulb moment. I’ll use them, have lots of light, and clean up My Sweet Al’s garage at the same time.

The contractor warned me about the high price of red iron. I reasoned that it should be okay. I wouldn’t need to buy windows therefore I’d save money. When do we strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel? All the time.

I told the contractor, “Let’s do it. Order the red iron.” He did and I was happy as I could be. It was worth the price because I would have a nice storage room and a work area with lots of light.

Then, My Sweet Al said, “Oh, I have a bunch of angle iron on the north acre. You could’ve used them, but they’re grey.”

“What? I’ve already ordered the red iron and its here. Why didn’t you tell me you had some?”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

I couldn’t believe Al would have $2,000.00 worth of gray iron laying out in the yard, left over from a job he worked on fifteen years ago. When he finished the job he cleaned up their yard, dropped the iron in our yard, and now our yard needs to be cleaned up.

Al is straining at gnats and I’m swallowing another camel. The grey angle iron is priceless to me since I’m still in the building mode. I can do great creative things with it. I wonder what else Al has lying around in the yard?

I’m looking at this grey/red iron and seeing dollars lying in the sun. I’m cherishing every piece. I asked Al to throw a chain around them and pull them up to the house with his tractor. If I don’t use them, they’ll be on the property for another fifteen years. They’re worth their weight in gold. I need to use them.

Final Brushstroke! My Sweet Al said, “I can’t afford for you to save me anymore money.” He’s weary of all I’m thinking to do with his private stash of building material. Hopefully, I won’t be walking on the streets of red iron any time soon. I need to stick around to keep cleaning on Al’s garage and pay for all my creative inspiration.

Woman/Man Thing

I’ve entered a man’s world of carpenters and builders. It isn’t my mode of operation to visit lumber companies, but while our garage is under construction I have become the go-fer. I’ve learned the lingo, and understand what a wedge anchor bolt looks like and the price of concrete and red iron. I’ve searched them out and did my homework, got the best price, best job and best material for the money.

The contractor and I keep in touch through e-mail. He answers my questions and I follow through immediately. Whether the garage belongs to me or not, I’m making it happen, and Al has turned it over to me to get it done.

When I showed our son-in-law and daughter the garage and said, “This is the man door.”

My daughter said, “What’s that?”

My son-in-law said, “It’s the walk-through door. That’s what it’s called.”

I laughed and said, “I don’t know why it’s called a man door. It should be called a woman door. I’m the one who will walk through the door this winter.”

So what’s the big deal about men and women? When the men are waiting on materials to work, they don’t care who picks up the wedge anchors or washers. They need them, and they need them now. I show up with a bag of bolts. I’ve made sure they’re the right ones, and they thank me.

It’s better to send me to the store than My Sweet Al. I go and get back, no foolin’ around. I understand time is money. If the guys don’t have what they need, they can’t work.  I’m pushing to get this garage built and keeping everyone on task.

If I send Al, he moves by a different clock. Before he goes, he might stop and crank up the lawn mower, drive it around the property, put gas in the old work truck and take the gas cans to town to fill up. In town, he might stop and get a grape slush at Happy Hour or run by and see our daughters. He gets distracted.

So, I make sure I go to the lumber company. I’ve found a whole group of people, mostly men, who are reading my column. One of the employees yelled across four aisles of paint and nails, his voice echoed throughout the store. “I love your articles. I read everyone one of them.”

I drew closer, and over one aisle, I said, “Did you know I quoted you?”

“I saw, clipped it out and saved the article. Poor Al. He sure takes a beaten.”

“Are you kidding me, he loves it. I keep reminding him I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.”

I went to the other lumber company for more things. A shopper in the store said, “I read your articles. Bop Sweet Al on the head again. You’ve got to keep him in line.”

I said, “It’s hard for Al to stay in line. But, mostly, he keeps me in line. We need each other. It seems to work that way. The lines have become blurred.”

Then he said, “You should be teaching in church again. I’ve heard you teach. You’re an excellent teacher. They need you.”

“It’s that man/woman thing.” I said to him, “Let me ask you. You love the Lord and know God’s ways. If you are in church on Sunday and need a good word, and a woman has a word from God, does it matter to you who God uses to bring it to you?”

“No. Not, at all.”

“You’re a wise man. And whose door is it, anyway? Is it a man door, a woman door, or is it a God door? I’ve learned one thing in building a garage and walking through a man door. If the workers are waiting for material, they don’t care who brings it to them. If they refuse it because it comes from my hands, whoa and woe!

Final Brushstroke!  My Sweet Al will be thrilled this winter because I pushed through with the garage and kept the workers on task with the material they needed to finish the job and a paycheck at the end of it.

There will be room for his truck in the nice warm garage. Who cares if it’s a man or woman door when the cold motor in his diesel truck starts up?  There will be no ice on the windshield and he’ll be able to see.  My car will be snuggled up next to his truck and I’ll be snuggled up to My Sweet Al.  I would say, he’s a very wise man.