Another day has shaken the depth of darkness into the light of instant coffee, powered cream, artificial sugar, a plastic bottle of water out of the tap and some peaches in a sweet sauce before the lighted tube that presents the news of the world in a non offensive and sometime humorous manner. Opening the blinds to welcome the light and say out loud, “Good Morning Day”, then turning back to focus on what the rest of the planet has been doing while I rested. How to make fashion scene of the almost princess, cooking with noodles, and crazy Al standing out in the snow telling the world it is snowing, but you already know that if you look out the window starts to bore so before the bike ride or search for communication on the small white box, step outside onto the porch and breath in the warmth that will be the day. Don’t rush, but stand and listen. Eyes wide open slowly pan the plot of land called “home” and appreciate the dawn of a new day.
Dress in the same uniform worn everyday, and after a quick look around the empty rooms, lock the door and walk out into the forest. The pond appears black but reflects the overhanging fingers of wood as will the mirrors of the morning ride reveled in the underworld.
After a day of waiting and worrying and waiting some more only to wait a little longer, the promise of sunshine and warmth refreshes the inner being. Another deep breath, round a corner and feel the tension of not riding, as much as perhaps should be the daily routine. Cold and rain are not viable excuses. So the pain is accepted.
A friend wrote of the television “Mad Men” (which I have not watched, not having cable or interest) and it made me think of the times gone by. I remember my wife thinking I would like to watch this series about a bunch of guys in the 60’s selling advertising. Yeah, well?
I did catch the end of some of that, so I don’t think I need to watch it, because I lived it. I walked into a job where there were a bunch of men in suits, smoking and talking rubbish with no one to look up to except a balding high school graduate uncomfortably wearing a tie and smoking a pipe who worked his way up and realized potential.
The first “real” job in an office of men (and a few, very few women who were obnoxious, rowdy and pioneers in their field) who were rude, crass and very boring brought this “child of the 60s” into a working reality.
They told me what to do and I did it without question and I got paid for it.
But the sales people I worked with did not earn respect. They were crude in their comments about women, uninformed about current events, and drunken most of the time. I cant really blame them for the environment that they took advantage of. There job was to sell to a product everyone wanted, so their daily experience was to have lunch with a client offering deals and spending the company’s coin on long lunches bonding relationships.
I learned to accept it, then absorb it, then even become part of it. Routine wears the values down until finding the manageable level where existence and reality can co exist.
Remember the country was under a threat of nuclear war, real or perceived, and the space race, as silly as it was to the youth, was scaring our parents to try and cope by contriving with each neighbor in similar actions, appliances, automobiles, and respecting a way of life developed by the last war.
What is Real?
The year, and for the next four year, this commonwealth and maybe others will revive the “heritage” of the Lost Cause sometimes know as the Recent Unpleasantly or the War between the States.
Looking in the history books, at least those that have not been rewritten, it seems so long ago, but I am a child of the south and saw first hand some of the results.
Every fall, there would be a “Tobacco Parade” celebrating the major manufacturer of the commonwealth in which convertibles sporting local radio celebrities never seen before and young girls in prom gowns with sashes announcing them, as “Queen” or “Princess” would wave down the main street of town. High school bands and junior soldiers would march down the lane announcing the last of the Confederate sons.
And all this was all right, presented in a daily basis of life in the south. Belt buckles; flags and songs were sung openly yet little by little the ancestry was diminished by awareness and response to changing attitudes.
Yes, that is plastic Robert E. Lee on his horse Traveler, like a My Little Pony of the late 50s.
So what was once described as “hero’s” were now lost in the dust of time.
But that was of a time when taking a drive was an all day adventure, glamour was only imagined, and the dull every day life evolved around church, family, and work.
Time Well Spent
So the twenty-four hour day presents personal decisions on how to utilize the time. As the globe revolves, so does the passing down of values from cultures. Work, the basis of producing a livelihood, has always been the focus for the male species. We are the hunters, adventures, and historically the one’s responsible for providing substances for the rest of the tribe.
Once manufacturing of good overtook destruction of land and animals, the family transformed into a monetary society trading time for script valued by retailers as swop for goods and services.
So is this satisfying the search within each of us or is it merely satisfying our minimal efforts to sustain our surroundings with the rewards of accomplishments, while resting on desires by encompassing ourselves in fantasy?
Do Romeo and Juliet worry about zits? Does Superman get constipated? Do the ancient rulers of lands unknown need to download apps to check on locations?
Doesn’t matter, this is reality.