Debris

Debris: (n) the remains of anything left over

It’s a matter of getting the right mind-set. If you don’t, you may find yourself going through life feeling cheated—angered at being passed over.

The bottom line is that ninety percent of us never get a chance to work with something that’s brand new.

The folks who handle the new shit have to have so much money that you and I could never achieve such garish amounts.

What we end up with are left-overs.

  • Abandoned projects.
  • Broken pieces.
  • And ideas that have already been deemed worthless.

Yet it is completely possible to get rich off of poor results—to have money because someone else failed to see a way to turn the material into something viable.

This is why a carpenter once mused that “the meek will inherit the Earth.”

In other words, once the rich people get bored or can’t remember why they bought something in the first place or have broken it just a little bit and don’t want to mess with it anymore—well, these spoiled-rotten humans will walk away and leave it behind, making it, shall we say, public domain.

I, myself, am a piece of debris.

I probably am not handsome enough for a fancy woman.

I’m not slender enough for an athletic one.

My talent is obvious but diversified and might confuse those who are looking for the strait and narrow.

I don’t have enough money to impress you.

And I don’t have the desire to overwhelm you with my silver tongue.

I pick up what’s usable and make it better. In making it better, I end up with the full usage of the discarded, and the possibility that someone might just want my little piece of renovated debris.

What is the old saying?

One man’s treasure is another man’s junk?

Also, one man’s junk, if treasured, can delight the world.

 

Curate

Curate: (v) to take charge, organize or select content for presentation or publication

You don’t have to wait for spring cleaning.

Any good sunny afternoon will do.

Drive down a residential street and you will find things that people have pushed, shoved and even carried from their houses, sitting next to the road—as trash, ready to be toted away.

Some of it has earned its relegation to the Kingdom of Trash. But other items are just portions of the household that aren’t used anymore—discarded as junk.

You can pick up some treasures. I have found myself doing that.

I curate.

It doesn’t make me a curator, but in this throw-away generation, I find myself cruising the neighborhoods of Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram and the like, finding huge piles of values and ideas that used to be regarded as beautiful, or at least workable, sitting in the Out Box, declared spam.

Civility used to be applauded. But now it seems anemic in the presence of the onslaught of aggressive accusation.

You can go anywhere on Facebook and find a trashed version of the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you—and find that it still polishes up quite nicely.

One by one, we have taken institutions and ideas that have lasted for millennia and made sure they were gone from memory—by next Tuesday.

Things like sympathy, empathy, poetry, sentiment, reflection, journaling.

Even record albums and CDs are disappearing.

Books look like dinosaurs marching to the mark-down bins.

Part of this is being done in ignorance, but most of it is the influence of negativity, wishing to wipe out sensitivity by deeming it weak and stupid.

I suppose you can join the crowd and stack your shit for flushing.

Or you might want to take a second to wonder if simply enjoying something for its feeling–which has existed since Eden and now is considered passé on Instagram—would be worth tucking it away like an old sweater that is ready to give warmth on the next very chilly morning.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Clutter

Clutter: (n) untidy

It’s all about square footage.

If you’re a person that grew up in a large house with plenty of room to spare, you probably believe that where you place things is not terribly important. After all, there’s always more expanse.

But if you grew up in a house where the walls always seemed to be creeping inward, you quickly understood that you could clutter the room by taking off your coat and laying it on the couch instead of hanging it up.

Perhaps this is why rich people have maids and housekeepers. Having additional living space to clutter, they require assistance about placement and cleanliness.

For many years, I traveled on the road. This required a motel room. You learn very quickly in that space that two towels placed in the wrong location and a pair of shoes discarded in the path, could make the room look a mess and have you tripping and falling flat on your face.

So I do not know whether it’s possible to teach someone who thinks there are unlimited regions for collecting junk that placing things in order simplifies life.

But we all must be honest and admit that we would like to know that we are cluttered–before someone else has to tell us to “straighten up.”

 

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American Dream

dictionary with letter A

American dream: (n) the traditional social ideals of the U.S., such as equality, democracy and material prosperity.

I think the American dream has been over-analyzed by Freudian pundits and politicians who plan on using their own interpretation to bring about the enactment of their particular will.

I’m not so sure I agree with the Republicans that every American wants a gun.

Likewise, the more liberal view of the Democrats concerning giving people license to do whatever they want to under the guise of civil rights doesn’t achieve much more than an emotional traffic jam.

I’ll tell you what I think the American dream is: Hunk, Chunk, Junk.

I think the power of freedom in this country, with the intelligent use of capitalism, enables me to go out and get my hunk. I should have every right to do that. If it doesn’t infringe on the needs of others or hurt my fellow-man and woman, I should be applauded for my efforts and be given a barn to store my bounty.

Then from that hunk, I should get my chunk. This is probably where people will disagree with me. Lots of folks think they need every single dime they earn to cover their own personal indebtedness. If that’s the case, you’ll spend your life pretty miserable. I should be able to break off a chunk from my hunk that will make me happy and keep me in grits, gravy, gravel and glee.

What remains from my hunk actually becomes my junk. Things I don’t need. Things I don’t want anymore. It’s a startling but true statement that if everybody in America emptied their attics and garages of all the things they haven’t used in the past six months, and gave them to their neighbors, 75% of the personal needs of others would be fulfilled.

It’s not treasure if moths and rust are corrupting it and it’s being stolen by time and depreciation.

Get rid of your junk.

Bless someone else. They won’t think it’s junk.

They will treasure it as their hunktheir American dream.

 

 

Adjunct

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Adjunct (n): a thing added to something else as a supplement rather than an essential part

I think it’s misspelled. It would be so much easier to understand if the word was “addjunk.”

Really, that’s what we all do. We add a bunch of junk to our lives as we journey, convincing ourselves that it’s priceless, only to spend most of our time shuffling it around from place to place, even though it is inconvenient and infrequently used.

About ten years ago I came to the realization that the only power in getting older was in being smart enough to travel lighter. I had so much unusable, often unrecognizable material hanging around me, like unwanted relatives stopping in for a loan, that I was often baffled as to whether there was enough space for me to live and breathe.

It was stupid. I had added so much junk to my human trailer that I was beginning to resemble white trash on my way to NASCAR. (This is not to say that ALL people who go to NASCAR are white trash. I speak by permission, putting into practice comedy, and quite bluntly, the law of averages.)

So what did I do? I started giving away everything I had not used in the previous sixty days. It was astounding–because things that I did not view as worthy of a two-month connection were valuable to others around me–sometimes even a life saver. I looked generous.

Now, I wasn’t really generous. It was a practical move to make sure there was enough oxygen in the room for me and my necessaries. In no time at all, I had grown lean and mean, and at my fingertips were all the goodies that I preferred, which by the way, were much easier to locate since they weren’t hiding under the freeloaders.

The second thing I did was I decided to live. Now I’m not talking about sucking in air or planning a shaving and bathing schedule.

If I wanted to do it, if it was practical, fruitful and in the spectrum of my abilities–I just did it.

Is there anything worse than people who are aging, who both lament getting older and also constantly offer regrets about their lack of accomplishment?

Shut up. It’s addjunk.

It seems that many people over fifty have only used their time and energy to practice becoming professional complainers. Here’s the key: give and live.

Give away everything you don’t need and live out what you want to do, and in the process find out if it was worth tackling.

I realize that to some degree this essay has nothing to do with the definition, but you can take that up with my boss.

(Ha, ha. I don’t HAVE a boss. I gave him away … so I could live.)