Off and Running

Off and Running

 

 

 

Well, I seem to be more interested in adjusting the little screw in the arm of

 

my spectacles than in responding to the dropped flag that signals the start

 

of this writing race.

 

 

 

"You're off!" says the flag. And there they go, down the straightaway, around

 

the first curve, back along the far straightaway. And while those engines

 

roar and those wheels spin, devouring the territory with speed—while that

 

takes place, one lone car, as sparkling a racer as any of the others, is left at

 

the gate, its engine idling.

 

 

 

The hapless driver (don't you love that word, hapless?) jiggles with the

 

starter button, revs the engine as she holds the clutch in, and then slowly

 

releases the clutch and guns the accelerator. To no avail. The car doesn't

 

move.

 

 

 

This continues for too long—long enough, in fact, for the pack of other

 

writers (er, cars) to have circled the track two times. The lack of movement is

 

a mystery.

 

 

 

Until someone on the crew realizes: the chocks are still blocking the back

 

wheels. Well! Well, it's the work of a moment to kick the chocks out of the

 

way and finally the car is off and running, though no longer IN the running,

 

having lost too much time to win, place, or show.  Nonetheless, she (it) is in

 

motion, hurtling down the gravel track, slowing slightly for the curve (notice

 

the skill with which she slide-skids the rear wheels on that curve—the work

 

of a real professional).

 

 

 

And the race is on. But as with most car races, the crowd is losing interest.

 

Even diehard fans admit (when their third or fourth beer coaxes honesty

 

from them) that the greater part of a car race is boring beyond belief. Round

 

and round. Round and round. No indication as to who is leading, since

 

some of the cars have lapped others. The dominant feature of the race is

 

noise. But if you look closely you'll see that many in the crowd are wearing

 

earplugs. Or even, in some cases, earbuds connected to a Bluetooth device

 

so they can listen to the baseball game on the radio for entertainment while

 

the race does its interminable thing.

 

 

 

And if the excruciating languor of a baseball game provides more

 

entertainment than a car race, well that's all the measure you need of the

 

tedium of today's race.

 

 

 

Nevertheless, let's give a little praise to today's last-place finisher. At least

 

someone finally remembered to kick the chocks out of the way and the

 

driver actually left her starting gate. We learn one thing from this fiasco: this

 

driver must be nice, 'cause those are the ones who finish last.

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2025  Ann Tudor

Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

 

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Elation

Elation has been rare.

Moments of happiness, yes,

because that is accessible and can be

stimulated from the outside.

But elation is an inner thing.

One might say you either have it or you don't.

Truer to say we all have it—

it's one of those birthrights,

like creativity.

 

At a young age you might have been squelched

by the killjoy who,

wittingly or not,

felt it his/her duty to take you down a peg—

over and over

or just one time at a crucial juncture.

When sat upon, the joy of a child

learns to suppress itself

and that joyful energy, frustrated,

turns to misery and depression

or to a sharp-tongued defensiveness

that, like the thorned thicket

round Sleeping Beauty's castle,

repels all suitors.

 

Healing can happen,

in the right circumstances,

re-opening the possibility of elation.

Aim for it.

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

ListenandLive: https://listenandlive.com/index.php?route=product/search&search=Ann%20Tudor

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Choosing Idleness

I seem to be playing a little game with myself these days: how far can I go? I'm assuming—rightly, I hope—that the answer to that will become clear at some point.

 

How far can I go in dropping activities before I dissolve into a big puddle of indolence? I don't have a lot of experience with this. I've spent my life doing, sometimes from necessity, sometimes to counter what I fear is an innate laziness—the kind of laziness that brings shame if someone else sees it.

 

This fear's long history dates back to my childhood. In my memory (which may not be reliable), all I ever wanted to do was read. I see this now as an escape mechanism to avoid my more extroverted, noisy family. But maybe I'm making this up. At any rate, I do know that as a child I read constantly. I did other things: practiced the piano, made good grades (essential if you wanted parental approval in our family), and performed my chores no more reluctantly than did my siblings. Nevertheless Eileen, my mother, saw me as lazy. So she called me, whenever she saw evidence of this trait, "Queenie."

 

Carrying Queenie in my subconscious for these many decades made me pretty sensitive to the question of laziness, so I've always worked hard. I've not ever been a decent housekeeper (though I did used to vacuum, I'm sure) so I deliberately did other things to compensate: I made all our bread and cooked our meals from scratch, sewed clothes, knitted, and volunteered. Now we have the blessed Cristina who comes twice a month to do the cleaning that I won't do.

 

My game these days consists of dropping one activity after another, leaving my days (and most definitely my evenings) as empty as I can make them. I think I want to see how I will fill my time once I have, say, two or three weekdays totally empty. Will I just read more? Do more Ken-Ken puzzles? Or will I remove myself to a quiet room and practice my tai chi or meditate for longer periods? Or perhaps I'll rebel, leap up screaming from my chair and race to the kitchen saying, "I can't stand this idleness! I'm going to make six piecrusts and a new batch of walnut-buckwheat crackers. I'm going to make bread until the freezer can't hold another loaf. No more lolling about! Time's a-wastin'." And so much for idleness.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2025 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

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