Skip to main content

Hang Tight

I have a little project in mind. A bit of a random act of kindness, if you will. It's the kind of thing that potentially could offend, but could also benefit all involved. My intention is to replace a worn out and fading set of Tibetan prayer flags with a new set. Seems simple enough but here's the rub. It seems my upstairs window looks out over a small alley way that separates a row of backyards. The house directly in back of me has no fence dividing the yard from the alley. It's a rather unkempt hunk of overgrown grass with a jumble of berry bushes on one side of their neighbor's garage, and a little shared garage on the other side. The inhabitants of the house are either visually impaired or just don't care about their backyard. There is a small cement patio with a small coffee table and a ping pong table partly visible. Seems to me a little girl of about 7 or 8 lives with her parents there. Sometimes I see the girl standing on a swing attached to a tree in the corner of the yard. She rarely swings. Instead, she likes to spin in circles while standing. The "lawn" us usually overgrown and still adorned with the brown, crumbling, Christmas tree they shared 5 months ago. No urgency over there about how the yard looks or what it contains. Now and then I see one of the adults sitting in their little open-air patio smoking a cigarette or working on a laptop. I really don't watch them all that much, but there is one ting that constantly fascinates me about this view. This family, at one time, had a set of Tibetan prayer flags hanging across the length of their patio. At some point about a year (or two) one end of the flags became unattached. They still hang,vertically...somehow. They are discolored, unraveled, threadbare, and filthy. Yet they remain. After every good rainstorm we get, I look to see if they finally fell. Not so far. In the past year I have seen them endure rain and wind, sleet, hail and snow. They dangle there on 90 degree days and on 19 degree days. I suppose they will fall when they are ready. But I think about replacing them now and then. Just how, I haven't decided. I could leave a new set, with a note. I could ask if they's like a new string of flags. Or I could just do the deed. If I knew, for sure, that nobody was home I'd just cut down the old and replace them with the new. My thinking is that with a new set of prayer flags, the backyard might look so good that these folks would want to do more. Maybe even their skeletal Christmas tree would finally disappear. On the other hand, there is meaning in a set of Tibetan flags that won't go away.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Body Language

I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical.  This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair.  I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself.  At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office.  But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter.  So I fidget.  Then I begin a tour of myself.  Scars are tattoos.  I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12.  Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife.  The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life.  50 years later ...