So often we find ourselves unsatisfied and in discontent. We see all this "stuff" out there and think that somehow if we had more stuff, we would be happier. Television, radio, newspapers, magazines, and internet ads tell us all we need to really be happy. They tell us daily of the things we need, the stuff that they sell. And if we just bought enough stuff, our hair would grow back, always be perfectly styled, our skin would look younger, we would feel better, look better, be better, and somehow rise above the human condition.
Of course that is until they release their next product and then tell us how the last one was good, but this one is new and improved. That makes the first one old and inferior. And who wants inferior?
Well today I was tired of being in the house and decided to cut the grass. I have a very large yard and a riding lawn mower. It is needed, its not just stuff.
So there I was riding around the front yard, avoiding the bushes, the fire pit, the trees, and the trampoline. I looked over and saw our coon hound just loping around in the shade. One of the kids came out to pick up sticks so I could mow unhindered by such obstacles and I had to pause and be thankful for this moment. Here I was, stuff-deficient, and yet I was satisfied with what I have. Not only satisfied, but thankful to have it.
After 300 pulls to get the string trimmer started, I trimmed the weeds around the horse enclosure so the equine occupant would not be tempted to lean over the fence and eat the oh-so-much-greener grass on the other side. After running from the wasps and finally finishing, we headed off to pick up the two youngest ones who were at their grandmother's house for the weekend.
When we got back, I started up the tractor and fixed the hump in the gravel driveway that formed last winter. I really don't mind the smell of diesel exhaust, as long as I am seated on the tractor.
After removing a dead bush and a dead tree, I took the two youngest girls for a slow ride around the house on the tractor. The 10 year old was thrilled to be able to steer it. Of course my hand was only inches from the wheel at all times. I take no chances with my kids.
After putting the tractor away, the six year old asked if we could build a fire in the fire pit. Last year was horribly dry. This year has been nominally better. So we built a fire, but kept it small enough to be controlled easily.
Sitting out by the fire with my wife and at one point all my daughters (my son had no intention of coming out into the bug-laden evening), I had a lime flavored popsicle, a cup of water, and we sat and listened to the fire, the crickets, the tree frogs, and the coyotes.
Yes, I am happy, satisfied, and content in this scene.
You know, it really doesn't take much.
Or at least, it shouldn't.
Copyright 2008, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Of course that is until they release their next product and then tell us how the last one was good, but this one is new and improved. That makes the first one old and inferior. And who wants inferior?
Well today I was tired of being in the house and decided to cut the grass. I have a very large yard and a riding lawn mower. It is needed, its not just stuff.
So there I was riding around the front yard, avoiding the bushes, the fire pit, the trees, and the trampoline. I looked over and saw our coon hound just loping around in the shade. One of the kids came out to pick up sticks so I could mow unhindered by such obstacles and I had to pause and be thankful for this moment. Here I was, stuff-deficient, and yet I was satisfied with what I have. Not only satisfied, but thankful to have it.
After 300 pulls to get the string trimmer started, I trimmed the weeds around the horse enclosure so the equine occupant would not be tempted to lean over the fence and eat the oh-so-much-greener grass on the other side. After running from the wasps and finally finishing, we headed off to pick up the two youngest ones who were at their grandmother's house for the weekend.
When we got back, I started up the tractor and fixed the hump in the gravel driveway that formed last winter. I really don't mind the smell of diesel exhaust, as long as I am seated on the tractor.
After removing a dead bush and a dead tree, I took the two youngest girls for a slow ride around the house on the tractor. The 10 year old was thrilled to be able to steer it. Of course my hand was only inches from the wheel at all times. I take no chances with my kids.
After putting the tractor away, the six year old asked if we could build a fire in the fire pit. Last year was horribly dry. This year has been nominally better. So we built a fire, but kept it small enough to be controlled easily.
Sitting out by the fire with my wife and at one point all my daughters (my son had no intention of coming out into the bug-laden evening), I had a lime flavored popsicle, a cup of water, and we sat and listened to the fire, the crickets, the tree frogs, and the coyotes.
Yes, I am happy, satisfied, and content in this scene.
You know, it really doesn't take much.
Or at least, it shouldn't.
Copyright 2008, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
