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.”