Rules, Rules, Rules

I'm a rule person. I always have been. But I don't like it. I want to be able to bend, and sometimes snap the rules. I have a love/hate relationship with rules. There is always a tension within me.
I think keeping the rules is an indication of respect; respect for oneself, others, possibly establishment. Though inside, I have a tendency to be anti establishment. While obeying all the rules, I wonder what the purposes of the rules are. And then what are my reasons for following the rules. Is it about appearances? What will people think of me?
Maybe it is all about image. I know that I want people to know that I'm law abiding, respectful, trustworthy, but that I still mark my own trail. I want to be interesting. I want life to be interesting. Sometime I would like something interesting to happen to me. Can it, when I follow all the rules, all the time.

Narcissism

"So I hang on to my ego and simply hope that so long as we do a good deed, we can pretty well skip our motive."
~ From the novel: The Education of Oscar Fairfax by Louis Achincloss

So is he saying the means justifies the beginning and the end? I'm assuming the "good deed" is the means.

I know I've written on this topic before, recently in fact. Does it matter if we give to make us feel good, to make us feel like good people?

If everyone did good deeds (no matter what the motives) everyday, all day, all month, all year, would it make this world a better place?

Of course, doing a good deed for one person, one group, one country, may be detrimental to some other group.

I think I just have to go with my conscience on this. My conscience is pretty sharp; I have the stab marks to prove it. But then, that's just my ego speaking.

Brick by Brick

"Destruction before creation."
~Joseph Campbell

Just over a year ago, we bought a hundred year old house in Yale. It needs major renovations which may take us 2 to 3 years.

For the last two weekends I've been working on dismantling the chimney and fire place one brick at a time. We hope to use the bricks somewhere later, possibly as the floor of a court yard.

While wielding my hammer and breathing in dust, my mind was wandering. At first I was thinking about stashed gold just waiting to be found behind the next brick. This is Yale after all. As I got closer to the floor in my demolition I realized that it was unlikely that I would be rich by the time I was finished this particular project.

Next, my thoughts went to the families before and how this fire place was the means to their winter warmth. I thought of the craftsmanship and how much work it must have been to build, how satisfying not only the completion but the whole process must have been. I wonder what thoughts went through the bricklayer's and/or stone mason's head as he was building.

The fact that we are trying to keep what we can of the original structure and reuse as much of the material as we can helps me in this destruction phase. "This Old House" is truly a reclaimation and restoration project and I'm loving it.
And as far as I can tell, the ghosts are appeased as well.

Clandestine

Late last night we got a call from Dom asking for Ric. I took the message: "Meet Pedro at the west end of the bridge at 7:30 am. He'll have the rods for your project."

Ric tells me he can't make it so I have to go in his place. I park the vehicle, with easy access to the back lane. I'm a little hesitant, not exactly sure what the next step is. I haven't done this kind of work before. In the distance I can see two men walking toward me. Dom didn't mention there would be two of them.

I recognize Pedro but not the other guy. Pedro recognizes me but then asks me what I'm doing there. I assumed he would know. When I mention the phone call from Dom as discretely as I can while the other guy is listening in, Pedro says, "I was expecting Ric." I explain why Ric couldn't make it. Pedro's friend walks away.
Pedro walks with me to his truck, transfers the rods to my van and says, "You didn't get these from me, you bought them from a store." I agree and we go our separate ways

Mathematical Bench Press

I experienced an amazing thing today. I sat in a Math class in which the instructor made the subject interesting. She obviously enjoys her chosen field and can get excited about how math has evolved. She also has a keen interest in the adult learners and the "aha" moments that occur. Today she taught about base 2,3,4 etc.
I was sitting in this class as a one on one support worker, (my new job as of yesterday). I was expecting it to be a bit dull, anticipating tomorrow when the schedule is recreation for 8 hours.
Now I'm looking forward to next week when perhaps our Math instructor will teach the tricks behind completing a **** Sudoku Puzzle. It bothers me that I struggle with these seemingly simple puzzles. If I compare it to weight training though, maybe I won't get as discouraged. I'm not lifting very much yet, but the more reps I do, the stronger I'll get, right?

Stones

It has become a common feeling, I believe, as we have watched our heroes falling over the years, that our own small stone of activism, which might not seem to measure up to the rugged boulders of heroism we have so admired, is a paltry offering toward the building of an edifice of hope. Many who believe this choose to withhold their offerings out of shame. This is the tragedy of the world.

For we can do nothing substantial toward changing our course on the planet, a destructive one, without rousing ourselves, individual by individual, and bringing our small imperfect stones to the pile...

... Sometimes our stones are, to us, misshapen, odd. Their color seems off. Their singing … comical and strange. Presenting them, we perceive our own imperfect nakedness, but also, paradoxically, the wholeness, the rightness, of it. In the collective vulnerability of presence, we learn not to be afraid.

Alice Walker, from Anything We Love Can Be Saved with thanks to Steve Marston

I haven't added any stones to the pile lately, not with intention anyway. I'm sitting on them, resting, although they sure are uncomfortable. Soon, very soon, I'll quit being an inactive activist and continue piling stones.