By Neal Lemery
The little things in life often teach me the big lessons.
Yesterday’s weed eating project came to a halt as my usually trusty string trimmer decided to take a break. It was time to refresh the thick nylon cord, and I thought a fresh battery was needed. Still, it was a no go. My weed eater had gone on strike.
My project of thick grass and weeds in a long-neglected border was half done, and I wanted to be able to check it off the list before tonight’s long anticipated thunderstorm and, hopefully, rain.
My weed eater had other ideas, getting me to sit down in my comfy chair under the pergola, sip some lemonade, and do some mechanical problem solving. I delved into its mysterious interior workings, finding a half handful of long, wiry grass and the nefarious bindweed (so aptly named). It was the proverbial tangled mess, a metaphor of this busy, intense year.
I kept going deeper, into the very heart of the beast, and finding tightly wrapped coils of grass and stems, wound tight enough that my pocket knife had to enter the fray. Five, ten, then fifteen minutes of cutting and pulling and unwinding, and the inner shafts and gears were finally free. The green and brown gunk and braidings piled up on my lap, as I kept unraveling and cutting. How can such a small device contain so much trash?
At last, all the detritus was gone, and the machine was free. I carefully reassembled everything, even adding fresh tough nylon string. Putting a fresh battery in, I hit the switch, and the machine purred back to life, ready for a new go-around with my weed patch. Being less than mechanical, I experienced elation and self-satisfaction at my accomplishment. It actually worked, and I fixed it, I announced to the yard. Its indifference echoing back to me in the silence. Oh, well. I still celebrated my own small accomplishment. I take my victories where I find them.
Getting the gunk out seems to be a great remedy when things aren’t going the way you want. Sometimes, you just need to sit down with a few tools and some time, take things apart, and do some necessary cleaning and re-organizing. Patience is part of that, something I need to practice and give space to as I go about my day.
This work often requires the right tool. My pocketknife was what I needed to fix the weed eater. Later on, a broken hose refused to come uncoupled with another hose, until I found my pipe wrench, applied some needed elbow grease, and twisted it all just right so that the broken hose was finally separated, and headed to the garbage. “Right tool, right job” is a good motto to keep in mind when dealing with things that don’t want to move, that get stuck on so tight that nothing will get fixed. Now, I’m wondering what other tools I can use to fix things on my “to do” list, solving not only the mechanical issues, but the human and social frustrations that need to be fixed.
I should add de-gunking to my daily to-do list. There’s last week’s coffee spill in the pickup, the chaos on the coffee table, the clutter of the glove box. Then, there’s the tool box in the shop. The list can get fairly long in need organizing. There’s lots of things in life that are twisted, too tightly wound, and messy enough to grind things to a halt. Some time and patience, cleaning up, and decluttering breathe new life into ordinary things, making life simpler, and working again.
I should try this approach to my relationship with others, untwisting and cleaning up how I work with others, cutting away the knots and stuck debris, so that things work smoothly, wheels turn, and the work gets accomplished with a lot less frustration and difficulty. I need to take the time, and be willing to take things apart, do some unraveling, use the right tool, and put life in order.
Books: NEW book – BE THE CHANGE – One Random Act of Kindness at a Time; Neal’s other books include: Building Community: Rural Voices for Hope and Change; Finding My Muse on Main Street, Homegrown Tomatoes, and Mentoring Boys to Men
