In embarking on a third year of Spinning, I may redesign the format, or even split off again into separate weblogs. It would be fun to redesign the logo, and in taking a more literary direction, I found that while I have lost readers more into the "reality" of a personal journal, I have gained some readers interested in the analysis of literature–even though my thoughts are by no means academically or proper critical theory-guided.
On the reality end, there is not much good going on, and the backyard of inspiration need be kept fenced within my mind rather than whined about here. No cheery stories in the cloudy skies and treetops. No deep revelations in the burning tip of cigarette waved in the black night. My thoughts are taking on a serious bend of understanding human nature, and with the help of reading and seeing what goes on around me, these reflections at this stage in my life are vitally important.
For example, yesterday I stood at the counter of our little market in town and laughingly pointed out the clean counter and missing Lottery rack. It was early morning, and Ray was just opening up, his help not yet arrived. But he had this story to tell me:
A woman had come in and complained that the fruit and vegetable weighing scale was not in clear view above the register, although a peek around the Lottery rack would easily have provided a reading. Two days later someone from the Consumer Protection Agency came in following up on her complaint. She had turned him in.
"Surely not a townie?" I asked. "No," Ray replied, "and she’s never been back." Another customer and I shook our heads in sad disbelief.
In my immediate quest to confirm my belief in the basic good in human nature, this episode along with personal goings-on has me confounded. While I am often dumbstruck by what drives some people’s actions, I am attempting to understand their intentions, motives, and become more understanding of the diversity in people not a part of race or color or ethnic background, but by a more important separation of consciousness, conscience, and compassion.
In our teens we are misunderstood. In our twenties we are the saviors of the world. In our thirties we are self-confident of ourselves, and in our forties we question and resolve what the fifties should bring as confirmation and content in knowing ourselves as well as others.
But sometimes something happens that shakes and stirs our world to dump it upsidedown in our laps.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology