Author: J. Thorp

The Second Third, Week 16 (Belated): In One Ear…

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First, let me say that, obviously, the idea of posting these Second Third entries on Wednesdays has fallen by the wayside. This is primarily because this winter has been crazy busy, especially since three Wednesdays a month, I teach Confirmation classes. So I’m settling for weekly, roughly. If I end on or about November 10th with The Second Third, Week 52, I shall declare victory.

So…

I had an Alien Abduction moment last week. I woke at about 5:20 a.m., rolled over, and in the pre-dawn gloom, discovered my wife was not beside me. This struck me as curious enough that I mustered the wind to croak, “Jodi…” and listen, half-asleep, for a response.

Nothing.

My eyes opened a bit wider. “Jodi?”

Nothing. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. No noise from the bathroom. No lights visible anywhere. Probably on the couch with a sick kid, I thought. But I usually hear sick kids.

I rose, stepped carefully past the snoring Schnauzer in the darkness, walked down the short hallway and into the living room.

“Jodi!”

Nothing.

I turned my head from the side to side, dumbly, in the darkness. No signs of a struggle. (Yes, I actually thought that.) Where could she be?

Perhaps I only stood there for a few seconds, perhaps longer. Eventually I occurred to me that she had told me something before bed, something relevant. What was it?

She had told me she was getting up and going walking at the indoor track at our high school early in the morning. I had heard her say it, and no doubt it registered subconsciously, because I had slept soundly through her rising and leaving. But it took awhile to recall it consciously.

I have a knack for hearing but not listening. This is not selective hearing, per se, which all people cultivate to a certain extent. This is a problem in which I hear everything you are saying, and mere seconds later, it’s gone.

It’s not a matter of simple distraction, although if I’m engrossed in something, it’s almost a given that I’m hearing you but not computing. (On the other hand, I can doodle my way through a meeting and catch all of it.)

No, distractions and “multi-tasking” (in which we do several things poorly at the same time) are different evils altogether. What I’m describing is “in-one-ear-and-out-the-other” in it’s worst form. Jodi can do everything right: she can get my attention, get me to put down the book I’m reading or shut off the TV and look at her, tell me what she’s going to tell me, tell me, then tell me she told me…and I can blink and lose all of it. Sometimes I realize immediately that my memories been wiped clean, and will ask, sheepishly, for her to repeat herself. I’m sure that, more often, I have no idea it’s happened. One can’t remember what one has forgotten.

And it’s not just Jodi, though she has so many more opportunities per day to be the victim (or perpetrator?) that she is the person most frequently connected to it. Lucky gal.

In my Second Third, I need to figure out this little glitch in my software. Unfortunately, they say the memory is the first thing to go.

The Second Third, Week 15 (Belated): Boot Love

/ J. Thorp / 5 Comments

Blogger’s Note: The whole idea behind these “Second Third” posts can be found here.

Most regular readers (like, two out of the three) know that I met my bride while selling western boots one summer at Wall Drug. You might not know that I actually worked three summers at Wall Drug in an effort to be near my bride, and that each summer, I bought a new pair of boots.

Up until a few moments ago I was convinced that I had written at length on this site about my once-and-future obsession with boots. Apparently not. I know I wrote about it in a newspaper column at one time; I’ll try to round that up and post it shortly. In the meantime, suffice it to say there was a time when I knew more than was healthy for a boy my age about boots and boot makers, leathers and stitching, fit and finish. I could convey that knowledge to cowboys, bikers, and foreign tourists, using only my hands if I had to, and I lived in boots, at least in the summer months.

My three pairs of boots are pictured below. In my Second Third, I intend to wear the soles off them again and again. Why? Pfft. Just look at them!

My first pair (also pictured at the top of this post). Summer 1994. Nocona size 12 1/2D (the perfect fit from day one). Chocolate oiled bull shoulder with black tops. Soft as moccasins; tough as nails. I’m on my third set of soles and heels.

My second pair. Summer 1995. Blucher Boot Company, custom-made for someone else, but didn’t fit them; fit me like a second skin. Black French calf tops and bottoms. Soft and smooth and takes a nice polish. Great for dancin’ if they didn’t look so wicked. And if I danced. Still on the first set of soles and heels.

My third pair. Summer 1996. Nocona size 12 1/2D. I special-ordered these for rougher use: oiled cowhide foot; high green goatskin tops, and a bit higher and more underslung heel, just for kicks. I also put a black rubber half-sole on them for extra durability in the wet or on pavement. Scratched, gouged, salted, and paint-spattered. Second set of soles and heels.

The Second Third, Week 14: Not Giving a Damn

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Blogger’s Note: Yes, yes…most of you know, but occasionally I get a new visitor. So in case you’re that guy or gal, the whole idea behind these “Second Third” posts can be found here.

My father’s machinist-mentor Chuck used to have a slogan hanging on the wall of his shop, and to this day, Dad continues to quote it: Old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill. As you might guess, not being particularly skillful, I spent most of my youth thoroughly overcome by the treacherous old fellow.

Dad genuinely has different abilities and interests than me — that’s part of it — not to mention vastly more experience. But as I’ve become a father myself and watched my own children gaze in wide wonder at my courage, skill, knowledge, and strength, I find things that used to be a struggle come easier to me. In this respect, life in my Second Third is vastly more enjoyable that the previous 35 years — and I believe I know why.

See, when I was a kid, I was worried about million different things: screwing up, failing, disappointing myself, letting others down, looking stupid, getting hurt, hurting someone else, you name it. As the young samurai says in The Last Samurai, “Too many mind.” I was so wound up about about everything, so lacking in self-confidence, that I couldn’t accomplish anything without a messing up. My worries were often self-fulfilling prophecies.

My friend Father Tyler made a similar observation when he turned 30 last month: “[T]he pride which so hobbled my willingness to try then has been tempered. At thirty (especially as a professed celibate) it is much easier to not give a damn about how foolish one appears.”

I am not a professed celibate, but I can relate. I’m still not graceful, not mechanically inclined, etc. — but I can do many things I never used to simply because I’m no longer so tightly wound about them. Because I’m more secure in myself than I used to be, I can work within my limitations, ask questions, and be more patient — and it pays off more often than not.* In my Second Third, many** of the things that used to stress me and hold me back simply don’t concern me anymore. And as Fr. Tyler so aptly concluded, “To not give a damn, I am coming to understand, is one of the richest graces of full-fledged adulthood.”
________

*Of course, being 6’3″ and about 240 helps, too, at least in terms of striking fear in children, and intimidation, like treachery, goes a long way in overcoming youthful prowess. And if I force it — and I do from time to time — I still fall flat.

**Not quite all…but I’m working on it.

The Second Third, Week 13 (Belated): Overcommit

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

Blogger’s Note: The whole idea behind these “Second Third” posts can be found here.

So I should technically be writing Week 14 of this series, which proved to be far more interesting in my head than it appears on screen. This is last week’s entry — exactly a week late and, ironically enough, about the tendency I have to overcommit myself.

Several natural but unfortunate tendencies contribute to my inclination to promise more than I can deliver:

  • First, I tend toward optimism: I can do it, things will work out, stars will align, etc.
  • Second, I’m horrible at estimating the time a thing will take.
  • Third, I tend to expand into the space I’m given, leaving no room for error or delay.
  • Fourth, I like what I like, and when I like it, I want to be involved. I say yes more than I ought, and don’t like to back down. Enthusiasm + pride + a touch of the martyr = unrealistic deadlines and self-imposed misery.
  • Fifth, I’m no manager. I like to do more than to delegate and direct, and filling someone in on a project (and then relinquishing control) nearly always seems waaaaay more difficult and time-consuming that just doing it myself.

Multiply these tendencies across multiple projects and decisions per day, and you can see A) why I’m a week late on this post and have blogged almost nothing besides these “weekly” Second Third posts since I promised to do them; B) why, when I look more than a few hours ahead on any given day, I feel nauseous; and C) why I’ve yet to teach my children any number of things I already knew how to do when I was their age.

This cannot stand. No is such a clear and easy word; I must pronounce it more frequently. I can’t blow my Second Third on ill-considered obligations I take on myself.