You live most of your life inside of your head. Make
sure it’s a nice place to be. Anonymous
There is a flower bed in front of the house that is mostly
covered in red rock – lava rock, to be more precise. I know there are some
people who delight in landscaping with rocks, but must admit I am not one of
them. It isn’t because I don’t like the looks. True, I’m not crazy about the
aesthetics, but that doesn’t bother me. What bugs me is they never stay put.
I don’t know when these rocks first made their appearance,
but they’ve faded and gotten grimy over the past decade or two with the soot of
both fires and smog. Lichen and moss have taken a toe-hold in the
aforementioned layer of detritus, and gravity has played the Pied Piper,
leading some of the rocks down off their bit of heaven enough to knock over the
wall of brick that has, until now, kept those rascally boulders in place.
There is nothing sadder in this world to look at than a limp
wall in serious need of a blue pill.
I figured it would be nearly impossible to overcome
two-score years (or more) of rocks pushing and gravity pulling to fix that
border, and breathed a sigh of relief at what had been my first intelligent
thought of the day. But the peace and tranquility were quickly set aside when
it was suggested that we needed to fix the border and return those pock-marked
pieces of pumice to their proper places.
While I was tempted to locate my slide-rule, grab some paper
and pencils, and outline all the reasons (scientific and otherwise) why those
stones should be left unmolested and unturned, I resisted the impulse and,
instead, said, “OK.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. First of all, at my
age, hearing doesn’t come as naturally as it once did. Secondly, what I heard
was a direct violation of the Prime Directive to not interfere in the natural
evolution of other worlds (and I am neither vegetable nor mineral). And finally,
it was at variance with the unseen forces of darkness that reside within my
heart – which is to say, I’d have preferred to go off to play, gouge my eyes
out with a rusty spoon, or doing almost anything other than yard work. Wow!
What caused this transformation, you ask? In a word:
Acceptance.
We had a problem and it needed to be fixed. Until I could
accept that fact for what it was, I would be miserable (or make life miserable
for those around me). I would agonize over the insane thoughts of a thousand
wild monkeys running rampant in the jungle of my imagination, or I could accept
there was something that needed doing, and simply plan how best to get it done.
Anxiety, for me, is the Middle Man who needlessly drives up
the cost of living, edging out all semblance of serenity. So, why not eliminate
the Middle Man from the get go and just see what needs to be done and figure
how to do it? Serenity is a decision, more than a discovery.
We could pay to have the border fixed, or we could do it
ourselves. Those were our options, amongst which No was not.
So, by accepting the situation as it was and not as I wished
it to be, I was free to examine the problem with an eye to finding what
solutions were available, and which option might be best.
So I put on my work gloves (recently bought for such
emergencies, such as saving money). We raked back the rocks, removed the brick
slabs, dug a new trench, returned the bricks to their full and upright
positions, and then went and bought some rebar to help support the bricks as
they stand sentry duty over life’s rolling rocks.
I don’t know if rebar will restrain the relentless flow of
life’s dried lava, but I do know that acceptance has stanched the rattling
river of rocks rolling ‘round my head. Consequently, not only does the yard
look nicer, but my mind is a more pleasant neighborhood, too. And that’s how it
goes in this, our valley. So …
Rock on!
