Wax on, wax off

Free time, for me, is defined by the lack of "oughts" and "shoulds." That is to say, if I really want to feel relaxed, I won't do something on my To Do list; instead, I'll do something that doesn't need to be done, that no one is expecting, that I don't feel obligated to do. So it was that last night, when the kids were in bed and Darrel was still at work, I began waxing the car. I'm not even a big believer in wax. To be honest, the idea to wax the car was planted by my neighbor Mr. Eddie, whose cars always look like they just drove off the dealership's lot. He claims that the protective elements of wax help the paint job to last longer. I tend to think that anything will shine if you rub it hard enough. And I don't really understand the purpose on putting something on only to take it off right away. In my mind, it fits into the same category as scented shampoos/soaps and making beds, but the car was due for inspection, so it seemed a nice gesture (as if the car cared).

The exterior of the car was washed earlier in the day as a diversionary tactic to get the kids out of the house and cooled off without spending any money. The pasty polish went on quickly, and I thought to myself, this is fun! After waiting for it to dry, I started the process of rubbing off the wax. Five minutes into that, I had visions of the Karate Kid being instructed in the art of meditation. Ten minutes into the wax removal, I no longer questioned why people spend money on buffers. Fifteen minutes into it, I thought that the cost of getting a car detailed, no matter how high, would definitely be money well spent. By the time I finished, my arms were numbing, and I had the look for the glare of the streetlights on the black car so I knew what parts were done.

I tried to find some meaning in the process. I may have made this up, but it seems to me that things are shiny when they have multiple small scratches that reflect light at different angles. Large scratches are obstrusive, but a series of minute nicks create facets for light to bounce off of. Is there some parallel to the stresses of life? Does the barrage of minor annoyances, distractions, and disturbances somehow polish our character, grating the surface, making their subtle mark on us more than significant stressors?

Some may enjoy gardening as a respite from the demands of the workplace, a time for solitude and communion with the growing world, space in which the repetitive, mindless motions of weeding, harvesting, watering allow the brain to relax on a deeper level, bringing clarity to life. That may be true for Wendell Berry, but my experience in the field is vastly different. Particularly during these 10 weeks of youth employment, my job is managing people while minimizing damage to plants. Partly because the field is small, partly because the youth aren't very focused on details or proficient at thinking through cause and effect, partly because I'm the only one with the mental map of where things are or the paper map of where seeds should be planted--for all these reasons and more, I am the go-to person for 4 hours every day, with a near constant barrage of questions about what, when, how, and where. I would love to spend an hour harvesting garlic or finding my rhythm with the broadfork, and a day weeding would make my heart glad. But doing anything for 10 minutes straight is a luxury in the field, because here comes someone else ready for a new task, looking for seeds or explanation or a tool that only I can find. It's a necessary part of the job, but I also find it exhausting.

Unfortunately, the interruptions continue at home. While washing dishes. . ."Mom!" Yes? "Can I tell you something?" Yes. "um. . I can't find that book we got at the library with dad." Let me finish these plates then I'll help you look for it. While looking for book. . ."Mom!" Yes? "I'm thirsty." So what are you saying? (Training my kids to consolidate their communication will be a great accomplishment.) "Can I have some juice?" No, you've already had juice today. You can have milk or water, if you make a proper request. "Juice!" No, you've already had juice today. You can have milk or water, if you make a proper request. (this is not a typo.) "Ok, then, milk." Could you ask nicely? "Could you get me milk please?" At which point I have to decide whether I want to spend the energy and time to help the child get his own milk, or if I should just get it myself so I can get back to dishes. And so it goes.

Which perhaps is why waxing the car was so fullfilling. (Doing it in the dark helped me forget that the interior of the car is a mess, but cleaning that is not a job that will be done in my free time). These things that grate us, can they make us shine?