Swing not only means the tire-swing my father hung while standing atop his plumbing truck or a wooden, wobbly-seated under the apple tree, but to manage, and I suppose that’s what I am doing right now. Getting in the swing of things, even if some part of me feels I’m creating obstacles in order to avoid the “real” work. I make myself to-do lists and read Roberts’ advice via Facebook where he writes first in Latin, non est cura melior quam labor, in plain English, there is no better cure than work. A claim he states has always proven true for him and is something I do too when I want to avoid my anxiety about accomplishing something, well, more like proving myself to the THEY of the world in doing enough paid-for-work outside of my home. I guess some part of me still wants to be considered a good citizen? I find myself taking on long and tedious projects, like scraping four layers of ancient wallpaper off from shipping wood in a room upstairs.
My neighbor, Dan, calls it bird-caging—to cover up or build around the problems that can’t be dealt with by the remodeler, and out of direct and quick need, are just covered. I’m pretty sure that’s what Sven, the previous owner did--not only with the wallpaper, but the seventies-style paneling that I swung all of my weight on to pull down. I hired my old boyfriend (no need to worry, he was a two back) to come and do my own bird-caging in the corner where there’d been some damage to the wall caused by what I presume to be a hurt window.
If eyes are windows to the soul, then when, will I, like Joseph Campbell move beyond woundedness into myth?
Photo: Me, looking back at a tediously cleaned wall.