Building A Building

How's everyone doing? Good, great, glad to hear it.

I saw one of my friends was despondent last night. I thought about saying something encouraging. But then didn't want to get "involved."

You have to know when to come to someone's aid and when not to. I have a surefire method, called "When the time comes...guess."

Could I be the first person in the history of the world to liken personal growth to building a building? I think I probably am.

At some level, it seems obvious. So it's strange that no one's ever thought of it. But I guess that's why I was born, to think of it.

So my purpose in life has now been fulfilled. Hurray for me!

Listen to this: "Brick by brick, the foundation is layed." Laid? Lain? Lay?

Anyway, there's a foundation, comprised of bricks. One brick set next to another, then bricks set on top of those.

And so forth and so on, until it's as tall as a tower. A big huge, a big honking huge tower, towering over the whole land.

And that's enough. I also have a brick shell and I'm going to crawl back into it. Good night and may all your dreams be at night.

Working On The Building

I'm busy working on the building.

That is, patiently and diligently doing the construction work needed on the building.

The building has its foundation, which needs to be carefully planned and put into place.

Then it's a matter of building on the foundation, which to a large extent, of course, is determinative of what I'm going to end up with.

How I build and what I build with are both critical.

I will seek to exercise the utmost care and concern not only with the process of building but with my idea of what the outcome should be.

Toward the end: windows, drywall, fixtures, outlets, wallpaper, and all the fixins' will give it a fabulous air of refinement and dignity.

Then I will be able to welcome in guests, visitors, and people on tour, to tour it and take away ideas and inspiration for their own place.

Brick Upon Brick

Brick upon brick, I'm building on the foundation of a pretty terrific life. Always adding to my already wonderful start.

Putting them square, checking it with a plumb line, a perfect cupful of mortar carefully and evenly layered between each one.

This foundation and the eventually imposing edifice must weather all storms throughout time and remain standing come what may.

I check the blueprints, the various doctrines of proper building, then go about my work.

Things go along, walls rise, outer and inner as one. The outer I refine for appearances. The inner I refine for satisfaction. Big weight-bearing beams are anchored where they belong.

Drywall, wallpaper, outlets, fixtures, switches, and windows are in place.

November's A Mess

November is looking bad for the Grandma Slump blog. October was a big month. I was going great guns, blazing hot. November ... not so much.

I don't know why exactly. Maybe it has nothing to do with November. Just the biorhythms swing hit then and it could've been any other time.

But if you think about November, it's right next to a biggie, December, which has Christmas. And Christmas planning has encroached on November. We had our Christmas tree(s) up before Thanksgiving. So November sits there, inferior, holding forth with its one little day, Thanksgiving, and is known for bad leftovers 24 hours later. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

On the other side of November, the front side, we have Halloween, which makes everyone start off November going, "That's over with ... I don't want anything till Thanksgiving now." Unless you consider Veteran's Day something. It's not a holiday with anything fun associated with it. Just commemorating veterans, who are definitely worthy of course, but it makes for a boring holiday.

But I don't think my personal problems here have anything to do with the rhythm or lack of rhythm of holidays, or that there's anything intrinsically wrong with November. I just overdid it in October is all, then thought I could keep up the same pace in November. Of course I knew better. I heard the rumblings all along.

Maybe December will be better. At this point, I've pulled away. So if I have the good sense to stay semi-detached, everyone will have a happier experience.

My Subconscious Feelings Are Bad

Life is one big blacklist you never get off of.

They look at you with an evil eye and you can't help but feel subconscious.

I'm subconscious about my weight, my hair, my bad teeth, and my damaged car.

They tell you don't worry about it. Which is just another trick to keep you in your place.

Anyway, I shouldn't say anything more about it. I've said enough.

Even my terrible subconsciousness is stifling me HERE.

Very Few People More Subconscious Than Me

This is going to be an amazing confession. Maybe not so amazing, really, if you've read everything else I've written here. But since there aren't any except me who've done that, I'll just confess to it right up front: I'm probably the most subconscious person you'll ever know.

I don't know what the problem is. It's obviously something from childhood. I remember being very subconscious in school, like I thought everyone was looking at me. I would have a hard time getting up and speaking in front of people, that's how subconscious I was.

So much for childhood.

In my teen years things just got worse. Of course a teenage boy is unusually clumsy and uncoordinated. But it's very pronounced when you add to it a high level of subconsciousness. When you think everyone's looking at you, noticing your every move, your every quirk, the whole thing.

And these things are objective facts, too, not just your imagination. You start getting pimples, bad skin, hair growing in different places, your voice is changing. It's really enough to make anyone feel subconscious, but for me, being prone to it forever, it was so much worse.

Next thing you know kids are pairing off, this guy's dating that girl, this guy's dating that other girl, etc., and some of us haven't quite got a clue yet what's going on, how we fit in. Anyway, you see them together, hanging all over each other, and there you stand very much alone, I was always very subconscious about that too. Like, Here I stand, what's wrong with me?

The whole thing goes on. Life gets easier when you're not a teenager. But still you know it's all just a front. Because people are the same creeps when they're adults as they were as kids. Only now they're talking about you behind your back, or at the country club. And you're on about a million blacklists. Life is one big blacklist you never get off of.

I see anyone and I seem to think I know what they're thinking. And subconsciousness gets the best of me once again!

Knowing this as I do, it's tough to leave the house. I see people, people see me, and I can't help feeling very subconscious. It's enough to make me want to scream.

La Boheme

I listened to the whole opera "La Boheme" yesterday.

It's not extremely long, just two CDs, but still it's something sustained and of course it can be tough to sit there that long for one thing. I listened to it in two parts, with a lunch break in the middle.

I already had one copy of this on CD. I might have an LP set somewhere too but I haven't seen it for ages. My previous CD version, I got in the late '80s. It's infamous in my mind for one unfortunate fact, that several of the libretto pages are blank! They never saw a printing press. That's real helpful!

I was at a thrift shop and saw another version a few days ago and got it. So I sat and listened to it yesterday.

It's an enjoyable work. I seemed to get more out of it yesterday than I did in the '80s. Or in the limited listens to it I've had since then. I was very into it yesterday, going along with the book since I don't know Italian. But there's places where it's very easy to lose your place and about impossible to keep up with the text. Like when everyone in the cafe/club scene and singing all at once.

I was tracking along with Rodolfo and Mimi pretty well and their bittersweet love. It's very touching how Musetta gets involved and turns out to be such a good person. And the others. I had a few tears in my eyes then when Mimi died. That's a painful moment but powerful.

This Thanksgiving

My Thanksgiving tweet:

On this beautiful Thanksgiving day, I'm most thankful that my enemies have either been completely destroyed or seriously neutralized.

Seriously neutralized! Seriously, I don't have any enemies. Not this week anyway. Who knows, some might flare up next week. But as for this week and today the world is at blissful rest.

We endured a turkey today. Turkey is one of those meats that sounds better in theory than it turns out to be in practice. It's never quite as good as you think it should be. It has a weird stringiness, striations both in the white meat and the dark. The drumsticks seem like they have odd additions, unlike chicken legs. I think if you weren't really picky and careful you could easily die eating a turkey drumstick.

Then there's the unpleasant leftovers. I haven't had any yet. I'm thinking about going and having a slice. Because hope springs eternal. I hope it will be good even though I know at some level it won't be.

And finally, what's worse than the tiredness you get after eating turkey? We've all heard it by now, so maybe it's psychological. But they say it's in the meat. I don't remember getting tired as a kid after eating it. But when you're a kid you have a lot of natural bounce in your step that you lose later. So we were down for a very necessary nap. I even gave the dog a little bowl of turkey, and she, like always, also took a nap.

I'm thankful Thanksgiving only comes once a year.

It's Turkey Graduation Day

This is the day that every turkey looks forward to.

It's a whole year or two of eating and getting fattened up. They put themselves through the paces, jumping rope normally and in that confusing crossed way that dedicated athletes do, absorbing the pain of the moment for the gratifying joy of finally accomplishing their course. This is it.

Turkeys know they're put on this earth for one thing and one thing only, to be the centerpiece of a Thanksgiving meal for human beings. That's what they learn when they're small and what they keep in mind all along the way.

It's a great goal, of course, but none of it's easy. Of which I don't want to say much, except to say turkeys have challenges like the rest of us. There's a whole pecking order, some overcrowding, a lack of privacy, and all your friends are turkeys. But no matter how hard it is, all of them -- the good ones, that is -- grin and bear it, put their head down and charge through, onward and upward, toward the finish line.

They say that all of us, as our final moments are coming, are granted a glimpse of the afterlife, meant to assure us that life is good and that a beneficent Creator is looking out for us. That also applies to turkeys, who, it is reported, are given a glimpse in dreams of the Thanksgiving table they will adorn. Isn't that great? It's a very satisfying thought. I like it. And I like an additional thought along those same lines. That is, that the turkey, its spirit looking from above, gets to witness the complete satisfaction of the family gathered around the table. It's so good!

A turkey goes from being a small fry, ten to a handful, all the way up to the enormous 18 pound (on average) bird that covers your best platter. They're destined for it, and they're happy to do it. This is their joy, their glory. This is their graduation day.

May each turkey who's come this far graduate with only the highest honors!

Quiescence The Natural Corollary

I over exerted myself to the point that I provoked a corollary attack within my system, involuntary quiescence.

My system works that way -- it's no big mystery and I saw it coming.

Hence my inactivity at the present time. But let the cycles come around again and I'll surely be back.

I'm trying to post a "scarlet thread" type of thing occasionally, like this, because I'll know my future self will severely regret it if I don't.

I Clicked The Button

And here I am. I was resolved not to do it. Let it die in peace. Why kick the corpse?

But who knows? My cycles will surely come around again -- it about has to happen, even as far fetched as it seems right this minute -- then I'll be happy to know that I kept a scarlet thread running, keeping up at least a pulse along the way in these dog days.

But what if the dog days of oblivion go on forever? That can't happen. At some point I'll know just like I know everything else. I could sit -- I believe I could -- sit and stew over it in some religious way and know. Whether I love it or not isn't really in question. Whether it's worth showing my love by actually doing it, that's the critical thing.

I have my Grandma Slump picture in a frame on my shelf, looking over me in its unchanging way. She's not going away. Someday when I'm 85 and in a nursing home I'll have her picture there to remind me of when I was no longer young but not quite 85. Then I'll be removed from the whole scene and these days will be forgotten.

OK, we're drifting out of here.

Didn't I Write About Oblivion?

I thought I did. I guess I wrote a tweet, that was it.

It was this:

I can barely report anything because the oblivion is so thick around me.

That's true. I have very very thick oblivion all around me. Making it so I can barely even speak. My mouth is hushed.

My Inexorable Slide Toward Oblivion

This blog is like Balloon Boy's balloon with me aboard. It seems to be drifting ever closer to the ground, to a crash landing, perhaps a soft crash.

I've gone from worrying about it to not worrying about it. Bright new vistas have opened to me on other fronts, mostly involving reading. In the last couple of months, with focused diligence, I've learned to read. And so I've been exercising that new skill, becoming stronger all the time.

Looking back on some of my entries on this blog, I've been surprised to read them and see what it was I wrote. To a great extent, I've been amused. But, like Frank Sinatra not listening to his own records, it's not that interesting to read your own writing.

So this could be it. It could be. I'm not saying it is. My biorhythms could kick into gear at any time. It really could happen. Otherwise I'm seeing this as an inexorable slide toward oblivion.

Of course it has to come at some time. I won't be 85 in a nursing home doing this. So at some point I'll be outta here.

I'm thinking about challenging the biorhythms by reminiscing. And I just might. With a series called "If This Is It, We'll Always Have..." And then something from the last however-long-it's been that we'll always have.

Still Able to Sit Up And Take Nourishment

I went out to eat tonight with some folks.

I'm feeling dead tired. But I was able to sit there and take nourishment. Once the food finally showed up. We had some slow service.

Whatever the conversation, I wasn't interested, being tired. So I'm staring straight ahead and thinking of smart aleck comments that I could've made but didn't.

Then finally, munch munch, look at the clock, listen to the conversation, stare at things.

I noticed the restaurant had some books on a shelf. But they were old Reader's Digest condensed novels, the cockroach of books. So I'm confronted by cockroach books, wishing the restaurant might've been classier.

The day is coming to a conclusion. A few exercises, watch some Three Stooges, take the dog out, and I'll be about ready for bed.