Painting The Carport, Part II
Last week I began this column, but it became much too long. I ended with a joke about an exhibit of bulls and a husband who ended up in traction after the wrong comment to his wife. Now that might not have made much sense at the time, but perhaps it will after reading the following. Or not.
Last week I began this column, but it became much too long. I ended with a joke about an exhibit of bulls and a husband who ended up in traction after the wrong comment to his wife. Now that might not have made much sense at the time, but perhaps it will after reading the following. Or not.
Let me paint you a verbal picture of our painting escapades, with Zack still physically challenged, recovering from Guillain-Barre:
There we are on the scaffolding, a smallish model for two grown people to share. The conditions are hot but windy. We should have waited for a calmer day. Everyone knows you don’t paint in the wind, but Zack has a schedule in his head. It might as well be written in stone. The painting was planned for this particular week. One thing hinges upon another. Windows and doors have been covered with paper in preparation; spackling and detail work has been done. There will be no postponing. There will certainly be no arguing or even discussion. I have learned better.
The sun is often in our eyes. Zack holds the paint sprayer, sometimes above the level of his elbows, a very difficult task for any length of time in even a healthy person. We take breaks if he needs them. When he becomes overheated, dehydrated or exhausted, he loses all perspective and pushes on instead of resting, until I insist (and insist and insist) that we stop.
We’re tired, uncomfortable and having difficulty keeping our balance. We concentrate hard to avoid tripping on the electrical cord (connected to the sprayer) as it weaves to and fro at our feet and Zack moves about the scaffolding (scaring me to death as he often backs close to the edge). This would be challenging even for someone with normal balance.
Tubes from the bottom of the sprayer lead into the full, heavy paint can. Normally this paint might be hooked to a ladder or scaffolding. But because of Zack’s difficulties, it is instead attached to ME. I’m holding it as high as possible (not easy), bobbing and weaving, attempting to anticipate his every move and gesture (like a shadow. I still have a little trouble with that telepathy thing sometimes). I’m trying not to spill the paint or let the cord trip us up. I’m hoping not to step off the high platform and drag him with me, connected as we are by the cord and tubes. I’m trying not to catch a face full of paint. If I’m not quick enough following his movements, the tubes will pull from the sprayer, requiring reattachment and copious expletives.
My “assistance” is criticized frequently and with little tact as the “boss” barks directions. No matter which way we turn or spray, the breeze blows the paint all over us. Soon we’re both covered with a fine mist of white, then a thin layer. I spill some paint. I’m too slow. I‘m standing in the wrong place. I allowed the tubes to pull loose (again). Intent as Zack is upon finishing the job (in this century) and staying upright, his mind slips into auto pilot. Polite discourse is not high on the agenda. I decide to forgive him until later. He has no idea exactly how I’m managing to do all that I’m doing. , nor does he care. He doesn’t need to, never thinks about it. Not his job. A multi-tasker I am NOT (by nature). Fast I am NOT. But neither of us fell off the platform or met with serious injury. By the time we finished, I was ready for a rubber room. In solitary.
I began last week’s piece by writing the following: I’ve heard it said that the most stressful times in a person’s life may involve moving, having a child, breaking up or divorce, undergoing construction —or experiencing a death. I joked that at least one of these things might lead to another. As with many of our “adventures”, it was a minor miracle neither of us was hurt while constructing the carport. We were fortunate we didn’t split up during the “close quarters” and stress of togetherness during the painting phase especially. And Zack was very, very lucky I didn’t put him in traction.
(Now that he’s better, I can joke about it).
Gene Ellis, Ed.D is a Bosque County resident who returned to the family farm after years of living in New Orleans, New York, and Florida. She’s an artist who holds a doctoral degree from New York University and is writing a book about the minor catastrophes of life. Check out Genie’s blog at http://rusticramblings.wordpress.com/
‘Where’s The Truth?’ (with apologies to Clara Peller)
Long ago, I ceased to be amazed at the complicity of the corporate-run mainstream electronic media to skew the public discourse in favor of the right, and the arrogance which it displays in doing so.
Long ago, I ceased to be amazed at the complicity of the corporate-run mainstream electronic media to skew the public discourse in favor of the right, and the arrogance which it displays in doing so.
Until the seventh year of the American people and our Constitution being held hostage by the RoveCheneyBush regime, when Democrats finally wrested control from a Republican Congress dutiful to the Party rather than constituencies, Dubya was treated as though he truly was King George XLIII.
The guy was given a pass on virtually everything he said (no matter how lunkheaded), or did (despite its blatant illegality).
Every bona fide reporter, longstanding members of the Press Corps included, or recognized and respected news service that dared to question Dubya’s actions or policies was summarily banished from official briefings.
None but those overtly willing to regurgitate precisely what the White House line happened to be at the moment were allowed to sup from the official feast – most of which was talking-point propaganda.
And, of course, George the Younger was typically portrayed in a glowing light.
Even now, those of the mindset that Dubya made a first-rate leader carp that he was hounded by the media, while the press now allows President Obama all kinds of leeway.
It’s convenient to forget that: Only those who would report favorably were allowed on Executive field trips;
None but avowed Bush loyalists were ever allowed into any venue where George made an appearance. On the rare occasion that a heckler might make it through the intense scrutiny of the gatekeepers, that person was silenced, forced out of the hall, and, often, arrested for exercising a right granted all Americans by the 1st Amendment;
The White House used taxpayer money to finance its own scripted “news” items, which were supplied at no cost to (alleged) news outlets, then gladly aired by stations with Right-wing agendas;
Operatives within the Executive Branch, primarily the newly-redefined untouchable Vice President Branch, were allowed to make policies and award contracts behind closed doors – with no Congressional oversight whatsoever.
Through it all, the unwashed masses, made up largely of self-righteous Christian zealots and the frightened elderly, were suckling at the teat of FOX(NotReally)News.
FOX, lorded over by Neocon activist Australian Rupert Murdoch, had, since its inception, been fostering the far right agenda; it created George W. Bush as a candidate, and we all know how instrumental this ersatz news channel was in getting him illegally installed as High Sheriff of the United States.
The bile which flowed through FOX’ teat poisoned its dunderheaded viewers, already sorely lacking in balanced perspective due to years of manipulative misinformation, with far more divisiveness and animus than we’ve known in this Nation since antebellum sentiment resulted in civil war (or, as southerners still refer to it, the “unpleasantness between the Nauth and the Sou-uth”).
Now, FOX has created its own corporate-based, synthetic “political party”, bullshitting its adherents into believing that this is a “grassroots” movement.
Truth be damned! Rupert further crosses the line by paying political hacks, the likes of Newt Gingrich, Sister Sarah, Karl Rove, et al, to muddy the waters of public opinion through espewment their own unified Rightology, with no counter-argument permitted.
Meanwhile, as this Australian megalomaniac maneuvers the American political landscape into his version of what our Nation should be, does the rest of the corporate media expose Murdoch for the turd he is?
No. They do everything possible to emulate Rupert’s channel, in a futile attempt to siphon off some of its ratings.
But the fiercely loyal FOX audience doesn’t care if they’re being lied to and manipulated – they want to believe, accepting FOX’ message as gospel. No open-minded media outlet is ever going to pull these jamokes away from BillO, Sean and company.
The one true anti-FOX alternative, MSNBC, has unfortunately swung so far to the Left that its pontificating has turned off even hardcore Liberals (yes, I am a Liberal, and damned proud to admit it).
However, in order to best FOX in the ratings, the other news services have fallen into a well of non-thinkism, the result being Americans are left only with newspapers as the purveyors of truth… sort of.
Sadly, we all know where the newspaper industry is headed.
My fellow American, you and I are screwed.
Shalom.
(Jerry Tenuto is an erstwhile Philosopher and sometime Educator. A veteran with seven years of service in the U.S. Army, he holds a BS and MA in Communications from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. Depending upon your taste in political stew, you can either blame or thank Jerry for his weekly “Out Of The Blue” feature in The Lone Star Iconoclast. Visit his blog Blue State View at illinoiscentral.blogspot.com)
