CHRISTMAS: BEING THANKFUL FOR SURVIVING STUPID

CHRISTMAS: BEING THANKFUL FOR SURVIVING STUPID

Christmas is a good time to be thankful. This is especially true for me when I recall doing something so stupid that it should have stamped CANCELLED on every future Christmas I had coming.

In southeastern Michigan, helicopters regularly crisscross the sky. They carry media types reporting on weather or freeway traffic, also the governor on his way between the state capital in Lansing and his home in Ann Arbor. In the spring, other tiny helicopters join them, in the form of thousands of seeds from silver maple trees.

When we bought our house, the owner explained what I would need to do to take care of the pond in the backyard. This would be accomplished  with the quaint, old sump pump in the garage. Just stick it in, turn it on, and let old mister pump do the rest, she said.

So, that first spring in our new/old house, when the silver maple seeds finally stopped dropping, I got started. I managed to get the pump working, and effluvia began gushing from the attached hose. My dog Chelsea watched, lying before the pond. She was almost blind then, so what I was doing came to her mostly as smells--rotting vegetation, mosquito larvae, etc.

Mucking out our pond reminded me of an analogy Freud used to explain the process of psychoanalysis. He compared it to draining the Zeuderzee, a swamp in Holland. The more you drain, and expose what lies hidden below the surface, the more of it becomes part of your conscious life.

Joining this analogy for me now is the name of a Ron White comedy concert: “You can’t fix stupid.”

I noticed the pump's wiring was partially exposed, but since the thing worked, good enough. As the pump chugged along, exposing more and more of the yucky pond, I slipped off my shoes, stepped down into the water and began scooping out rotted leaves and seeds. As I worked, the oddest tingling played about my feet, even in my hands.

Who can say how long I felt this tingling before it dawned on Professor Knister, defender of Freud, scourge of the dangling participle, tireless enemy of the passive voice, that where water and electrical current are present, humans should be absent?

Hearing all this later, my friend the electrical engineer stared at me. After a long moment, he shook his head and shrugged. “Don't ever do that again,” he said. “You've used up all the luck you ever had coming to you in your entire life.”

Both my border collie Chelsea and the pond are gone now. I still remember them, my wise old dog lying on the sunny grass, watching me. I am thankful to have known her, and thankful for the many Christmases since that spring afternoon. Thankful to have survived stupid.
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