Reflections by Doc Arnett

The biggest problem that I have found with storage space is that I tend to use it. Of course, there’s the usual of closets and attics with their inviting capacities. Then, there’s the room under the stairs and in the basement. The usual, ready for more junk spaces that are just so enticing. And so, I end up putting more junk into them. Then, there’s the space in corners, the space beside the water heater and the furnace, the space between the exposed joists in the basement and on top of the joists in the garage. And so, sooner or later, every conceivable space becomes crammed with junk. It’s aggravating enough to simply have to look at it every now and then. But now, we’re moving, again.

Buying an old farmhouse on a couple of acres a few miles across the river in Kansas involved more hurdles than the average regional track meet. A process that could reasonably be completed in two or three weeks took two months but we got it done, sold our current house and are finally moving.

Being somewhat optimistic that we would eventually be able to move into our new home, we started getting rid of stuff in May, having a yard sale, giving some stuff away and throwing other stuff away. And, of course, moving still more of the junk to the new place. Some loads, I’m tempted to tie on loosely, and then deliberately try to hit every pothole in the highway, hoping something might fall off into the river or a ditch. A piece of junk that gets smashed is easier to throw away, you know.

I am reminded of my own maxim, though I doubt I’m the first person to come up with it: Inventory expands to fill available space.

That’s true with mental health, too. Whatever part of our minds doesn’t get devoted to thinking about the things that are good and pure and peaceful and honorable gets devoted to the junk.

H. Arnett
9/17/10

Even though it was late August in an August that had felt like August all month long, there was something different about the day.

The fact that it was about fifteen degrees cooler was one thing that keenly observant souls like me would notice. That was an important distinction. Another aspect that didn’t require a mystic’s level of insight or a sleuth’s capacity for detection was that the relative humidity had dropped by half. Even though it was still quite definitely August, the day felt like October. In addition to the feel of cool, clear air, there were even the mare’s tails (clouds) hanging high overhead.

I like the premonition of such days, the feeling of refreshing dawnings and mornings that start out cool and begin warming. I like the smell of crops and the colors of bean fields turning from green to yellow to darker tones. I like the look of apples on a deserted tree going full ripe and the sight of butterflies and yellow jackets gleaning the fallen fruit. I like the smell of cider and the bright of pumpkins in a field of dying vines.

Those autumn days carry the weight of work but there is a promise of rest in the evening, a cooling that begins in the shadows. The promise of cleansing sleep and the waking to an even better day.

I like to think of dying as a walk toward the end of an autumn day. A good rest after the labor of harvest.

H. Arnett
9/10/10