When the Dross is Burned Away

I've known heros, true. But the really heroic things are really the daily things, cleaning the house, making supper every day, maintaining equilibrium, providing for your family, participating in your community, laughing in the face of it, getting over yourself and going on.

So this morning, donkey was braying. Donkey only brays when the horse and I go on an adventure. Donkey braying means horse is somewhere else. After milking and a swallow or two of coffee, I got his halter and went off to look for him. It is hard to hide when you weigh 2000#.

I figured he'd be in the garden where he could do the most damage, so I took off down the road. I hadn't gone far when I heard gravel gravelling the way it does under wheels. Someone coming? Without calling? I see a white truck, then the tell tale insignia of the evil power company. Our meter reader.

I don't really know our meter reader, but he is a hero of mine. He holds a job, he always waves and is friendly, he speaks, he doesn't drive up my road like a bat out of hell. He could be sitting at home collecting disability no doubt. He has basically no fingers, can't really smile, at some point in his life it looks like he's been really badly burned. I can't imagine what things he does go through, emotionally as well as physically, but here's the thing: He isn't stopped by it.

Anyone can be productive. Everyone who isn't has made the choice to not be. Sorry for the generalizations, but I'll trust you know what I mean. I get so sick of everyone being on disability, everyone claiming some reason they can't do something or the other, why someone else should give them something, owes them something, why it isn't really their fault, they are just unlucky, the whole alphabet soup, the whole living in the diagnosis instead of just getting on with it.

So my coffee cup is raised to those who get on with it. Cheers. And so much more.