A Flicking, Yanking, Switching, Jerking Test of Wills

I know I'm always commenting on farmers...John in particular. I can't help it. They're so darn entertaining. I feel like I was born on another planet. In a way, I was. We had indoor plumbing, cartoons and Disneyland. John, and so many others had chores, much the equivalent to that of a chain-gang doing hard labor. Television was for lazy people with more money than sense and the word Disneyland left a bitter taste in the mouths of those that were raised to accept that the Magic Kingdom may as well of been in a galaxy far-far away, since they'd never set foot in the grand brick entry paved in loving memory of family vacationers from around the world, excluding poor farm children.

Now honestly, there has to be folks around here that grew up much in the same fashion as I, I just haven't met them yet. I was working for a particle board furniture factory in Utah, which I hated. While I was there I discovered that the main office was in a place called Lamar, Missouri. A name I'd only heard about in an exhausting Kevin Costner saga about Wyatt Earp. The people that had all the key positions were from that place. They seemed nice enough, and they sure missed home. It got me to thinking about how I cringed every morning when the alarm would go off. I hated to be single, living in an area speckled with polygamous communities and run by the second largest cult in the US. Those Mormons left me uncomfortable. They were nothing like the Mormons back home, they were normal in California (that comment being relative to your geography). I even frequented the churches myself and had many friends in the ranks. They were just plain scary in Utah.

The people in Missouri are a hard working, brave lot that work their lives away, six days a week in a sweaty, dirty, plant where their only fringe benefit is a yearly picnic that bored me into non-existence. I admire their tenacity and humble demeanors and I get a kick out of the unique brand of humor that emerges. Blue Collar TV is a classic example.

I have never regretted the move here. No, let's be honest...hell yes I've regretted it! Every time I bash into a piece of furniture while groping for the ceiling fan pull chain in the dark, on account of Mr. Weber refusing to allow me to use the wall switches. When we first moved into this house everything was fine...until we installed ceiling fans everywhere. It put him at peace, reverting back to the familiar danglies. I, on the other hand grew up flicking switches and can't learn to blindly nail that cord no matter how well I know this house.

I'll never forget the day John came home all grumpy and stinky (the norm) and yanked the chain, nothing happened (not normal). He flipped out. He started a ranting about circuits shorting out and kept pointing his finger at me and began the barrage of ridiculous accusations about my office equipment and attempted some Nazi interrogation techniques. I just stood there, mouth shut, Windex and paper towels slipping through my fingers. When he stopped for a breath, in my annoyance I let the cleaning supplies fall and walked over to the switch and flicked it on and walked out. I took a long hike through the woods that day. It was the first of many.

I don't let him bother me anymore. If he were to do that now, it would start a war. A flicking, yanking, switching, jerking test of wills. Neither one of us have that kind of energy to spare so he'd just turn the switch and let the moody old hound lay these days. The powers that be have instilled a will in me that can leave cobwebs gather, the dust thicken, and the the laundry untouched if I am so affronted. I become instantly much too busy for domestic servitude.
I still try to placate the man suffering from chronic fear of change by leaving the switches alone... unless I'm cleaning the lights and blades like that day, and he doesn't get excited anymore...about anything. We'll explore the flip-side to that coin another day.
7/30/2005 1:51 AM
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