Matador in a Santa Suit

A few days ago, my lawn mower stopped working – right in the middle of performing a cool pivot on the back forty. I burned up the motor – again. (I did that last summer too.) I prefer an electric mower, so it’s just as cheap to buy a new one, but two in as many years is ridiculous, right? Enraged and a tad depressed, especially since I still had grass to mow, I went inside for a much needed beverage. Upon opening the cupboard door, a glass jumped out at me, and tumbling down to the counter below, broke several other items. One of those was an irreplaceable sconce cover along with two collector’s glasses. Color me personally offended.

I decided a nice relaxing shower was what I needed. Nothing like washing away yard sweat to improve one’s attitude, but in mid-lather, I managed to bump into a hand mirror, and of course it broke into a million tiny pieces right there in the tub. A nice relaxing shower indeed. So, with nothing more than a towel to cover my shame, I went in pursuit of a bowl in which to place the broken pieces. I stubbed my little toe at full stride, but there is still one more mishap to come. The bowl slipped from my hands onto the stack of plates below – killing the top two and the felonious bowl as well.

Why didn’t I just put the broken glass in the waste basket two feet away? Why are glasses flying out of cupboards? What causes a motor to burn up so quickly? And why am I allowed to continue living life without adult supervision? I obviously need a chaperone!

Is this what it’s come to? Have I become the bull in my own china closet? I guess I’m now that guy who gets sucked up in the tornado or falls out of the plane; catches the fly ball with his teeth; builds his house of stilts on Mud Mountain. I am the living, breathing spiritual child of Wrong Way Corrigan, Wile E. Coyote, and Daffy Duck all rolled into one. I am a menace and a plague to my belongings; a matador in a Santa suit. In one hour, in the middle of broad daylight, in the body of a full-grown heretofore adult, I managed to inflict more damage and mayhem than I would have ever thought was possible.

These are all just “things” though, and can easily be replaced, but the level of decimation to my soul is incalculable. For all I know, I may never fully recover. Just the act of explaining myself is painful and spiritually debilitating, so I still prefer to keep several paces between me and everything else. I just wish there was a philosophical way to look at this, you know? Some way to put it all in perspective and find balance in the world once again; some kind of redeeming lesson to learn; a homily, perhaps, or a fable of some kind. There’s not.

On a warm day in middle May of 2014, a man happened upon… No, stumbled upon a pure path to destruction and unleashed awesome havoc on unsuspecting household goods. It was brutal, and bloody, in its own way, but finally it appears to have subsided. And I’d love to rationalize that this was a valuable learning experience, if nothing else, but what could I possibly learn from any of it? The new mower will arrive in a day or two – everything else has been trashed. Fortunately, no one has cut their feet in the shower yet, and the old lawn mower has been stacked on top of last years model in the garage – still mocking me from afar.

And the moral to this story? There is no moral, and no point in trying to make me feel better either, but it has occurred to me that I should probably be glad it happened. How better to understand the insanity and pure ignominy of life than to have it crash and burn all around me? Besides, I’m in good company – at one time or another, we’re all matadors in Santa suits. I guess it’s just a question of how much bull we can stand.
Voices From Forever by Randall Keller Available on Amazon
There Is No Silence by Randall Keller Available on Amazon.


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