Don’t Throw Yourself Out (Blog #1037)

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What a day. What a productive day.

I’ll explain.

A few days ago my parents’ garage door broke. And whereas it took me a while to figure out what the problem was because the door itself was fine and the motor was working, it ended up being a shattered plastic gear. (The motor turns the gear, and the gear turns another gear that moves the chain). Anyway, this afternoon I took the motor down from the ceiling and fished out all the broken pieces, six in all. Then, in hopes that I could buy a replacement gear, replace it, remount the motor, and call it a day, I called two local garage door companies. Well, nothing’s ever easy. Both companies said, “Unfortunately, that motor’s older than God, and no replacement parts are available.” And get this shit! The guy at the second place said, “The manufacturer doesn’t want you to fix your old motor; they want you to buy a new one.”

“How much will that cost?” I said.

“$375 including parts, labor and installation, and tax,” he said.

Turning my feet toward the front door, I said, “I’m gonna have to pray about that.”

Determined to find another solution, when I got home I went to work gluing the gear back together and thinking of ways I could reinforce the spokes with nuts and bolts. Then I decided to take another look on eBay, even though I’d searched earlier and couldn’t find a gear designed anything like mine. And whereas I still couldn’t find an exact match, I found an acceptable one, the difference being that my old gear turns a smaller, separate gear, and the one I ordered turns a smaller, built-in or attached gear. Anyway, considering it only cost $20 and can be returned if it doesn’t fit, it’s worth a shot.

Fingers crossed.

In order to detach the garage door motor from the ceiling, I first had to go to the hardware store. I needed a socket/socket wrench, which I had, but I wasn’t strong enough to turn it (the screws were in studs). So I went to Lowe’s to get an adapter that would allow me to connect the socket to my power drill. This did the trick. All this to say that the adapter caused me to get very excited about all the different-sized sockets lying around in my Dad’s and (dead) Granmpa’s respective toolboxes. I kept thinking, Now I can use those! So this evening I organized both toolboxes, including all the sockets and socket wrenches. Then, because one thing leads to another, I cleaned out and organized the drawers in our garage, the ones that we’ve been throwing all our random screws, nuts, nails, and washers into for the last thirty years.

Of course, this has made it a pain in the ass to find anything.

But not now. Now it’s all organized. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am about this. Not only did I throw away a bunch of crap we’ll never use, but I also found a bunch of crap I never knew we had. For example, in my Grandpa’s toolbox were all kinds of files, wedges, hex wrenches, and plumbing tools. Stuff that will definitely come in handy!

Grandpa used to say, “You take care of your tools, and your tools will take care of you.” Along these lines, I’ve been thinking about how we’re so quick to throw things away, but when we simply take care of our stuff, it continues to serve us. Sure, there are times when a garage door motor goes kaput and it’s time to start over. But how often do we start over when we really don’t need to, just because a salesman tells us we should? “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” they say. More and more I’m learning it’s worth checking into other options. It’s worth being persistent and creative and searching for answers. It’s worth taking care of your stuff.

Your body is capable of a lot.

Likewise, it’s worth taking care of your health. For the last six years and especially the last three, I’ve been focusing on just this. And whereas I’ve hit a lot of rough patches along the way, I feel like I’m really starting to make progress. Despite what well-meaning doctors (like me and you, they’re doing the best they can) have told me about certain diagnoses being irreversible (“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” they say), I’m convinced my body is capable of healing most anything. Indeed, after decades of dealing with mental, emotional, and physical problems, I’ve beginning to see many of them disappear. So it will forever be my encouragement to anyone who’s struggling on the inside or outside to hang in there and don’t take no for answer. Get a second opinion. Garage door salesmen don’t have all the answers, and neither do doctors. I’m not saying you’re never going to die (you’re GOING to die), but your body is capable of a lot.

Don’t throw yourself out just yet.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Kindness is never a small thing."

Timeless (Blog #582)

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Hum. What to say? Today was–a day. I woke up, ate breakfast, and spent a couple hours organizing old photos. (This project’s going to take a while.) Then I took a nap, ate dinner with my family (Mom made a roast), went for a two-hour walk, and ate again.

The end.

Really, I wish I had something more remarkable to talk about, but some days are–well–forgettable. This is something I’ve thought about during my photo organizing project. The pictures represent roughly ten years of my life, and that’s over 3,600 days. 3,600 days I woke up, did something, and went to bed. And yet SO FEW of these days stand out specifically by–well–date. I keep texting my friends asking, “What year did that happen?” Not that I don’t have hundreds of memories–I actually have pretty great recall for names, faces, events, and places–but everything is jumbled together.

For example, here’s a picture of me, my friend Justin (before he grew a beard), his brother, and their uncle when we visited Justin’s family in upstate New York. My first guess was that it was in 2003. As it turns out, it was 2009, Justin said, just before Justin and I became roommates.

Justin’s great with dates. It’s the way his mind works. I used to keep calendars, and maybe that’s why I needed them, as my brain lumps things into different, non-linear categories–people I know through dance, times I’ve visited Albuquerque, theater shows I’ve seen, or EXACTLY where I was standing whenever such-and-such happened.

I threw my old calendars away several years ago during one of my purges, but I kept wishing today that I still had them to help me label and sort my photos. For the same reason, I’ve been wishing I’d kept daily journals growing up, something like this blog. But then, really, even I wouldn’t want to go back and read them. Oh yeah, THAT was the day I had a sinus infection and ate macaroni for lunch.

Which, honestly, could have been ANY day.

As I’ve thought about it this evening, it’s occurred to me that although my brain LOVES the idea of my memories being filed away neatly by date, my body–and yours–jumbles everything together. One minute you’re right here, right now, laughing with your friends, the next minute you’re back in your childhood, that awful thing just happened, and you’re crying.

I don’t know–sometimes I look at old photos and wish I still had that outfit or that waistline. Or I wish I’d done more, done less. Taken more pictures, better pictures. Kept better records. Whatever. But this afternoon I remembered a trip to Dallas as a child and recalled exactly where I was standing when I heard “Achy Breaky Heart” by Billy Ray Cyrus. Five minutes later I was twenty years older, in upstate New York with Justin and his family, on our way to Niagara Falls. Twenty years, thirty years–what’s the difference?–it’s like it was yesterday. For these reasons, I know age, waistlines, and outfits don’t matter–because we’re so much more than anything you can keep track of with a photo or a calendar. Truly, we’re ageless. Truly, we’re timeless.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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A Big Myth-understanding (Blog #579)

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Ick. It’s 11:30, and I’m so frustrated I could spit. Earlier tonight I met my friend Justin to check the status of my laptop. (I spilled hot tea on it a few days ago, and we put it in rice to dry out.) Well, it’s a long story, but basically the keyboard works–with one small exception. It “thinks” one of the shift keys is permanently depressed. (I think I might be thanks to this situation.) THAT MEANS IT STARTS IN SAFE MODE (WHICH IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU REBOOT A MAC AND HOLD DOWN THE SHIFT KEY, MOM), SO IT HAS LIMITED FUNCTION, AND IT ALSO TYPES IN ALL CAPS, WHICH IS–OBVIOUSLY–ANNOYING AS SHIT.

After over an hour of resetting this and reprogramming that, Justin got the laptop to type in regular lowercase–SOMETIMES–but it still starts in safe mode, and one of the shift keys doesn’t work. So I called Apple, and now I have an appointment tomorrow to have a technician check it out. Most likely, I’ll need a new keyboard.

As Justin said, could be better, could be worse.

Believe it or not, none of this really upset me. I actually took it all in stride. Shit happens. It’s not the end of the world. But when I came home and tried to backup some files and log myself out of my online accounts–and couldn’t–I nearly flew off the handle. Why the hell does everything have to be so complicated?! What did I do to deserve this?

Finally, I walked away, reasoning, Just leave everything alone, Marcus. Trust the professionals. You don’t have to control every little thing.

So now I’m in bed, blogging on my phone, trying to chill out. Really, it’s been a good day. This afternoon I made progress on my photo organizing project. Check out one of my all-time favorite pictures, from summer camp (2000) with my friend Matt.

Later I went by myself to see a movie, Small Foot, an animated film about a group of Big Feet who don’t believe in humans until one of them discovers one of us. It’s super cute; totally adorable. The tagline for the movie is “There’s been a big myth-understanding.”

For no planned reason, the two photos I just posted feature one person carrying another. Hum. Maybe there’s a lesson there, in the repetition. I’ve spent so much of life afraid something will go wrong. So much of life mistrusting others and even life itself, that I imagined only I could do things “right.” This has been my personal myth, and it’s why little things like a broken laptop set me off. They force me to let go, to surrender, to accept help. This is a good thing but not an easy thing to do, to admit there’s been a big myth-understanding, that the world ISN’T a big, scary place, and one person DOESN’T have to carry its weight on his shoulders, that it’s OKAY to accept help.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even if you can't be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. Don't let anyone else tell you differently.

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