Recently I have been thinking about the evaluations we make about situations, problems . . . and people’s actions, and by extension, people themselves. Some things seem so obvious; some things seem just plumb wrong, and they may very well be. I am so quick to equate the action with the whole person; it’s my temperament, the way my genes put my neurons together, just me. I know some of those brain linkages “ain’t quite right” but it comes out.

This morning, just a few minutes ago, I was searching for a piece of information I had tucked away on a stickie on the desktop. I have lots of stickies on my desktop and have collapsed a lot of them for reasons of space, leaving just a sentence to give me the general idea of what is within. Well, every now and then I will plop a quote on a stickie; I found one today, tacked on the bottom of a reminder of a password. I guess the day I came upon the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, I was in a hurry and just added it to a stickie that was already open and had a lot of blank space.

Here it is:

Judging others makes us blind, whereas love is illuminating. By judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are just as entitled to as we are.”
? Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship

Still, being me, I have to stand by my belief that there are some things that are done that are not right. But then there is the matter of the people who do the doing . . .

The subtle underplay here for me is that I have so much ease in admitting my faults – but pointing out that they are wired into me, and yet link so closely others’ faults with their chosen intent. Of course, I never think of it being wired into them. Maybe other people end the day by thinking, “Oh, crap, I was just plain mean today. Why am I like that?”

However, I have a real penchant for saying someone who is nice has a personality that comes naturally to them, as if that excuses my, uh, less than meritorious words and actions. I can’t help it, dontcha know. (See first paragraph.)

Well, my head is not hurting, but sort of vibrating and I think I will slowly back off thinking about the philosophy of  this. Ah, I found myself with my glasses pushed up on my forehead by hands and fingers pressed against my eyes as I sigh at life. I had to take one down so I could take it over to the side of the page where “publish” is in blue . . .

Shane should be tired tonight after hours of chasing wubbas and barking at fireworks. We had hot dogs cooked over the firepit . . . and pie.

And for the government website, there is this:

Have you ever wondered what happened to the 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence?

Five signers were captured by the British as traitors, and tortured before they died. Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned. Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army; another had two sons captured.

Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War. They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor.  What kind of men were they?

Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader, saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts, and died in rags. Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his family almost constantly. He served in the Congress without pay, and his family was kept in hiding. His possessions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.

Vandals or soldiers looted the properties of Dillery, Hall, Clymer, Walton, Gwinnett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton. At the battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr. noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson home for his headquarters. He quietly urged General George Washington to open fire.  The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.

Francis Lewis had his home and properties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months. John Hart was driven from his wife’s bedside as she was dying. Their 13 children fled for their lives. His fields and his gristmill were laid to waste. For more than a year he lived in forests and caves, returning home to find his wife dead and his children vanished. A few weeks later, he died from exhaustion and a broken heart.

Norris and Livingston suffered similar fates. Such were the stories and sacrifices of the American Revolution. These were not wild-eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were soft-spoken men of means and education. They had security, but they valued liberty more.

The weather report was for six hours of dry conditions so I started mowing in LaGrange County and mowed and mowed and the wind came up and blew my hat askew and then the clouds passed over and I kept mowing. I got off the mower like a pretzel, but I got it done. I had time to do a lot of thinking and had an attack of introspection. I made myself go over some of my faults – like I said, it was a long period of mowing. I don’t know if it helped, but I keep trying.

I forgot to mention that today was a landmark day – I believe my Indian name was revealed. I had done some serious sweating and it had dried. I was going to shower, but then remembered that I had to refill my prescription or my head would explode (possibly). I headed over to Wal-Mart in my sweat-coated body with a vented shirt over my sleeveless shirt.

It would take 40 minutes to fill my prescription, or, as Wal-Mart likes to look at it, $$$$ of shopping time. So I meandered around getting water, iced tea mix, some dog chewnola bones – taking the scenic view, so to speak. I became aware of a growing itching sensation across the back of my shoulders; I think it was shrinking sweat . . . or something. I shrugged; it didn’t help. I tried to shift a bit in my shirt and it eased it a bit, however, I had this great urge to go up to some pillar and rub my back against it like a bear against a tree. In the garden area, I found an empty aisle with bags of grass seed in a tall pile. I sort of leaned against them – a little to the left, a little to the right.

Yes, you may now call me Shops Like Bear. Or, you may want to pretend you don’t know me . . . while I paw through your cart. Sorry, a little carried away there.

It depends on the weather if I’ll be mowing tomorrow or not. I was going to do it today – all ready to go when the forecast changed from dry for next six hours to It’s Going to Rain Soonand I was thwarted. I’m going to try and get some done tomorrow morning before it rains again.  I can’t get the vision of tall buckhorns out of my head and I am already bracing myself for that first glimpse of the eastern part of the yard.

I have a feeling I am going to have to brace myself for sitting on the mower for hours as well. I walked fast on Sunday, slow today and my (cough) butt muscles are all achy tonight. I probably should take a pillow. I will definitely take mosquito repellant – lots of it. Last year this time we were getting ready to go to Iowa and it was really, really hot; this year has been much cooler and wetter – at least so far – and, obviously, we are not going to Iowa.

Maybe on the Fourth of July I will have a fire all day long and cook some hot dogs. No one knows it, but I have two telescoping hot dog cooking rods in the console of my car that I picked up at the gas station at the junction of 6 & 9. I forgot about them until right now. They will more than likely be a novelty and everyone will suddenly want a hot dog. Actually, I think MY telescoping hot dog cooking rod should be automated. Now I am wondering if I can get a telescoping spork – automated, of course.