July 4 thoughts and reflections in Reflection’s

  • July 5, 2024, 4:50 a.m.
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  • Public

Tonight I remembered how my family would sit on our front lawn and watch the fireworks from a distant park. It was such a thing of wonder and I remember my mother going ooh and ahhh about it. In those days firecrackers and such were illegal here, but it was easy enough for someone to take a vacation to Canada such as my neighbors across the street who had a cottage there. A little money was exchanged, and I ended up with fireworks. Part of the thrill if it was the danger of something exploding or someone getting burned. But we never did the stupid shit I see on YouTube in which people
Put bottle rockets in the rectums and see what happens. I think we didn’t do such stupid things because we didn’t have cell phones. There was a sense of wonder to the fire, the smell and the noise. As I grew older, I saw wonders of this world that made fireworks pale. Technology for example. Bigger and better ways of seeing films and TV. Also, that adult knowledge of what explosives can do to people. I have never been to war, but I’ve seen the effects of it in part due to improvements in technology. Boom fizzle flash just don’t have the meaning and any sense of wonder anymore except for when I hear about someone doing something stupid with them. How could you do such a stupid thing? Which reminds me of a childhood friend that was making a pipe bomb, and it blew up on him, damaging some of his fingers and his hearing, but ironically, he was able to join the military. My sense of wonder I once had for fireworks is now reserved for what I see on my big fucking TV. To see nature from distant places, animals, birds, fish in their natural environments are so far away in such beautiful color.

So many people try to interpret the meaning of dreams and to me much of it is just very obvious in my own. My subconscious is wrestling with the conflicts. I often try to ignore or that are sitting inside me unknown until my subconscious brings it up with my snores. Dreams in my subconscious are a therapist. I often feel relieved after having a very strange dream. It’s like having a good therapy session. When I was young, I feared the dreams, but now I know there’s nothing to fear unless I over interpret things and make up some meetings for them that make more trouble.

I was busy cleaning today and it felt good. I was going to use my treadmill, but when I turned it on, I got a message that I needed to lubricate the machine. This caused mild anxiety and then I let that go and let it go. Let it sit in my mind for a while as I did other things such as cleaning much bird shit cleaning the birdcage repotting a plant to make it feel better I hope and watering the plants and trying to feel them as I was near them. I have read that plants can feel to some extent, even though they don’t have some sort of nervous system. I have read studies that show that trees and plants with the root systems sharing information and sometimes resources. It has some logic to me. There is also a logic to how plants make us feel better feel good. If they are being so kind as to make me feel good then I must try to pay back and I do. It’s amusing to me how much time I probably spend wondering about how I can help my house plants. Feeling concerned for them and feeling at times guilt. Sorry baby I got a trim this stuff. I need to take part of you and put it in another pot. There is a murmur deep inside me of feeling good when I think about it. When I was a wood inspector, I would think to the pieces of wood that I regretted their treat being cut down, but I would try to make their wood use for a good thing. I was amused at how my two birds watched me as I worked on the house plants and watered them. I told them I take care of them. I take care of the plants and I take care of the squirrels outside. I have a bowl of water for any living thing that might need it out there.

I have a new behavior with my birds that makes me smile as I write this. It started as a joke in that I was drinking some water one day, and I offered the cup to max. I let her see me drink from the cup then I offered it to her, and she drank from it. Buddy saw this and had to see what was going on. If Max is drinking, he had to. And so a new behavior was created. A Ritual. When I got a drink and filled my cup from the faucet, max would often bob her head. I would offer her water and then offer the water to Buddy, like some sort of religious ritual. It feels so good to do that. It makes me grin. Sometimes they’re not thirsty other times they fight for it. They have a bath and a water dish in the cage, but I think there’s something special with our sharing the water. I have taken to drinking sugar less tart cherry juice often with kombucha. Every time I make the concoction, I offer it to the birds. It’s always comical how one of them will dip their beak into it, shake their head often the other bird will get a taste of it from them, and both will greedily drink the concoction. I try to research anything new I give them to make sure it’s not poison. Fruit juice is harmless and so far it seems the kombucha is too. Good for us all. When I go to eat something, the birds gather above me above the cupboards. They know what is happening when I get out the induction cooker to fry some eggs. They know I will share it with them. Strangely enough cheese as well. The processed turkey I get from Aldi. They sometimes like to eat. Peanut butter as well. Such tiny brains are able to look at what I do and anticipate what happens and what if anything is in it for them. Max has a habit of seeming to say good night to me every night now. I wasn’t sure if it was a new habit or what but over and over around 9 o’clock at night she flies over to me perches on my head then flies away. Sometimes she does sit or lay on my hand and cuddle with me, but inevitably around nine she and buddy go into their cage and go to bed. It is sweet.

I realized that for many years I have feared doing something with machines or tools. To repair or make something. I realized it was because as a child, my father would tell me to leave things alone because I would screw it up. Probably because he didn’t wanna clean up after some errors I might’ve made. Overtime I’ve been reluctant to make repairs or build things, but I’ve grown some confidence in working with wood. I’ve had to shut my father‘s voice out. Recently, doing some simple things around the house I understand about the brainwashing of the past and I try to break free of it. For example, a fear of damaging my treadmill, trying to lubricate it. Adjustments must be made, and silicon lubricant applied under the belt. It took me a while, but I was able to find instructions on how to do that although I had done it before on a more primitive or simple treadmill. There was a good feeling when I took my time and did it right and later adjusted the treadmill belt so that it was even on both sides. Hey dad, one less thing I didn’t mess up.

When I was a kid, my father would attack me as we were trying to eat our evening meal together. Looking back, it was such a strange thing in which my father would get irritated looking at me or hearing me say something, and get angry and verbally assault me, which often led to hitting me. My mother kept telling him not at the supper table. It occurs to me now how humorous that was because oh he is supposed to yell at me and hit me at some other time? I grew up with an aversion to eating with other people, even though logically my father was not with other groups of people ready to attack me. Just one of those things I realized. My oldest brother lived with or in my parents house all his life. He never went out on his own. My dad was sort of a god to him. In recent years, I have upset him by showing father was human. That’s all and humans can be very fucked up.

I have come to realize a big part of my being a bad student and having some issues was because of my father staying up late at night sitting in his chair, pounding the arms, the chair and tapping his feet because he seem to be a nervous wreck, but he would never admit it. Drink much coffee and chain-smoke. Drink to try to level it off. Just made them worse. I never had the courage to tell him that he was keeping me awake. You don’t object to what God is doing. Despite limited sleep as a child and teen I have felt for my father that he was such a nervous wreck every night it seems. Which was in part why he would pop off on me. Long ago, a therapist told me it was a pattern with alcoholic parents that they would attack the youngest. No self-pity here just understanding and thankfully I wish I could go back in time and give my dad a hug and somehow bring him peace. Not only for me to get some sleep.

Back to housework I’ve heard that if you’re depressed, it helps if you do some small thing and that will make you want to do more by accomplishing something. I found that to be true. Being in motion is a motivator. I often tell myself OK you lazy fuck get off your ass and start doing something so that you can snowball your mood to feeling better. It does help.

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