11.30
Today I'm all buzzed on life. I feel a little bit like a bad ass beyotch because I spent the day with the boys from the Utah Conservation Corps, hauling trees out of peoples' yards and getting shit DONE for America. Grant and I volunteered to work with Roderick and Mattheus, two members of the Utah corps. Roderick is ultra blonde, has the slightest lisp, and gives off the whole suoper friendly-nature-loving-cigarette-smoking-lives-out-of-his-car- kinda vibe. He doesn't believe in smart phones. Mattheus is extremely quiet and shy, with dark brown hair and a thick mustache. It's 3:30 and he just talked for the first time in the car, telling us how he worked at Six Flags for a season. I even caught him a second ago dancing to Michael Jackson a little bit, and I took that as a sign he's inching out of his shell. That's another thing about today: we spent all our time in the car listening to Michael Jackson's album, Bad, because apparently it's the only music Roderick has or wants to listen to. I've heard Man in the Mirror at least 8 times by now. We've had a good day together, the four of us. They laugh at my jokes about gummy vitamins and ornithology, and I admire their genuinity and free spiritedness.
I really hit it off today with one homeowner, a woman in her late 60s. We talked for over an half hour about dogs, life and our troubles. She wore thin wire framed glasses and had an adorable dog named Murphy and I regret never learning her name. She told me about her grandchildren, her plans to travel across the country with her friend Carol, and her religious views. I told her about Alphie, my family, and Americorps. She asked me if I liked birds, and replied a bit uncertainly that I didn't mind them. She told me she wanted to give me something that her late friend had given her, and went back into her house. She returned with a huge "Bird Songs Book" which included every bird in Notth America AND an audio system that played each bird's song. I'm not exactly sure how I'm planning on transporting this book anywhere, but am thankful for it nonetheless. That woman poured so much love into our interaction, even if she was a stranger.
It's 5:00 now and we just finished up a chainsaw job at another house. A teenage girl opened the door and then yelled to her mom "Mom!! The tree people are here!" Grant and I joked about how all you need is a hard hat and some combat boots for people to take you seriously. The outside world thinks we are so much more qualified than we really are. When we finished up the job (which was pretty much just us watching Roderick cut down trees), the homeowner gave us pieces of sugar cane she grew in her backyard. I made out pretty well today, with a Bird Bible and some sugar cane. What more could you ask for.
I'm trying a new trick to stay more present. Every time I talk to someone, I try to focus on the small details of the interaction. The way their voice sounds, the shadows, the curvature of their nose, their body movements, their freckles, their clothes and the sounds in the room. In my mind I try to create a thorough description of the moment as though I'm going to write about it in a book. I feel like authors are masters of the present, or at least masters of paying attention. I envy those perceptive abilities, the ability to break down a moment so vividly that it becomes its own world. If I really want to live in the present I think I must make it my world. I must really pay attention.
.
I really hit it off today with one homeowner, a woman in her late 60s. We talked for over an half hour about dogs, life and our troubles. She wore thin wire framed glasses and had an adorable dog named Murphy and I regret never learning her name. She told me about her grandchildren, her plans to travel across the country with her friend Carol, and her religious views. I told her about Alphie, my family, and Americorps. She asked me if I liked birds, and replied a bit uncertainly that I didn't mind them. She told me she wanted to give me something that her late friend had given her, and went back into her house. She returned with a huge "Bird Songs Book" which included every bird in Notth America AND an audio system that played each bird's song. I'm not exactly sure how I'm planning on transporting this book anywhere, but am thankful for it nonetheless. That woman poured so much love into our interaction, even if she was a stranger.
It's 5:00 now and we just finished up a chainsaw job at another house. A teenage girl opened the door and then yelled to her mom "Mom!! The tree people are here!" Grant and I joked about how all you need is a hard hat and some combat boots for people to take you seriously. The outside world thinks we are so much more qualified than we really are. When we finished up the job (which was pretty much just us watching Roderick cut down trees), the homeowner gave us pieces of sugar cane she grew in her backyard. I made out pretty well today, with a Bird Bible and some sugar cane. What more could you ask for.
I'm trying a new trick to stay more present. Every time I talk to someone, I try to focus on the small details of the interaction. The way their voice sounds, the shadows, the curvature of their nose, their body movements, their freckles, their clothes and the sounds in the room. In my mind I try to create a thorough description of the moment as though I'm going to write about it in a book. I feel like authors are masters of the present, or at least masters of paying attention. I envy those perceptive abilities, the ability to break down a moment so vividly that it becomes its own world. If I really want to live in the present I think I must make it my world. I must really pay attention.
Comments
Post a Comment