I wake up today and discover my peace of mind has been hijacked. It’s being held hostage inside of a bubble and floating in the air of ‘elsewhere.’
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It dawns on me that I’ve been squandering precious time wandering around aimlessly in the world of others, in some ethereal wonderland of elsewhere. An escape back into the world of ‘now’ is essential. The freedom of ‘time well spent’ is fleeting.
I toss out the paper, turn off the cell and say goodbye to the news. Technology and info overload fade. The power of personal choice recovers. I decide to share some of it with my brother, always a good place to reclaim quality time.
He has just moved into his new home. I find him out back whistling, putting the final touches on his so-called pool. He’s as happy as if he’d just come from a meeting with God Himself.
“Check it out,” he shouts. “How do you like my pool?”
“Uh, well, this is a pool? Looks like the stone ruins of an ancient Roman aqueduct. But it’s big enough for a bird bath, I guess.” He ignores the comment.
I survey his ‘pool.’ It begins with a circular cistern about four feet deep. Water flows in a trickle over a make-shift waterfall. Its tinkling sound is sufficient to induce a deep sleep or coma, especially if he had popped a few tops.
It meanders about thirty feet down a narrow chute little wider than four feet and ends in another circular pool scarcely wide or deep enough to accommodate the washing of two big dogs.
“Brother, do you call this a pool?”
“Listen, pool is a relative term. A pool can be a puddle of water an inch deep. Or fifty feet deep. It’s all a matter of perspective.” He’s unflappable and keeps whistling.
“Interesting, but what’s the point of this dribbling caricature of a House Beautiful water feature?”
“Take a look at this.” He shows me a lime-green inflated water chair, complete with an adjustable reclining back, a miniature ice chest, two cup holders and iPhone cradle.
“What’s with this recliner? It’ll barely fit in your drainage canal.”
“It’s perfect for redeeming the time. Plus, I can float and nap without fear of drowning or being dismembered by sharks.”
Well, I have to agree. Time well spent is a matter of perspective. But I need some redemption of my own. So I head to the La De Da Salon for a haircut.
Salons are good spots to catch women in their natural, ‘before’ look and hear the latest gossip. Today’s subject was about a gypsy fortune teller’s ability to manipulate men. Time well spent, and instructive, too.
I stop at the pier and take a barefoot beach walk. No place better to spend quality time and let nature assuage the tightly-wound nervous system. Sand and water possess magical, restorative qualities and provide an interesting runway for the latest parade of ladies’ swimwear.
Work has ways of worming itself in on attempts to regain composure. Today’s toil takes me by the UPS drop-off spot. Bill and Jennifer show me photos of their tiny baby goats. What better way to break up a tedious work day than watching a video of tiny goats taking nourishment from a bottle?
They tell me about a yoga studio in Woodbine that specializes in a modality called ‘Goat Yoga.’ Seems the baby goats like to walk up the backs of those in the down-dog position. I guess my brother is correct…time well spent is a matter of perspective.
Soon my addiction to the cell will plunge me back into the world of elsewhere. So before my freedom-in-the-now ends, I make a stop by The Georgia Grown Emporium to pick up on local happenings, fresh organic arugula and a shot of inspiration.
Uncle Don is in rare form today. Vacationers from Michigan are gathered around as he pontificates on the pleasures and the culinary delights of his sweet pickled peaches and homemade chutney. They leave loaded down and someone remarks, “Now that was time well spent.”
I drop off some peaches to my brother. He’s still busy with his pool. “Whatcha doing now?” I ask.
“I’m stocking it with fish. Never know when I might want to float and fish.” He keeps whistling.
You know, maybe peace of mind is just not that hard to find…get out, look up and let go. And that’s not just whistling Dixie.
Bud Hearn
May 23, 2018