Blending, processing, juicing

If I were dispensing advice, I would say, take care of your blender… my comments follow the video…

You know, maybe my son is right. Maybe, I am the one who keeps him here, although I surely didn’t do it on purpose.

In a way, he is amusing. Or I should say, interesting and thought provoking, because no way do I understand him.

Here is a guy who doesn’t have the money to get his car out of the repair shop. And everybody knows how a guy feels about his car…

And what does he do? He buys a blender.

Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?

It’s got five speeds! He enthuses. What power!

Then, do you know what he does? He loses it.

How do you lose your brand new blender?

So, then what does he do? He uses my food processor, of course.

And overheats the darn thing, flipping it out, and it refuses to work…

Where is your blender? I ask him.

Oh, I left it someplace, he said, nonchalantly.

(Oh where would you take two pieces of a three-piece blender? Maybe you know. I certainly don’t)

Fearing for my food processor, I say, Do you want me to take you to get it?

Nah, he says. Did you say you had a juicer somewhere?

This morning, I see, the blender is sitting next to my coffee pot on the counter.

I am glad.

I take care of my things, even my stupid food processor. Is that a female thing? Taking care of what you care about? And why the heck do I care about my stupid food processor, anyway? You can only “pulse” it. Turning it all the way on get’s it excited and makes it poop out. And it completely lacks the power of my son’s blender…

I see now, that, not only do I not understand my son, but I am a total mystery, too. Maybe I Do keep him around on purpose.

ps. the video, by the way, was passed on by my friend, Dennis Vogt, right after I wrote this. So, I put them together — it’s a blender thing.

What the?

Last night, I dreamed that this horrible hairy sharp-toothed animal with a brain just as smart as a human was attacking me and another person. It was terrifying. The animal couldn’t be outsmarted, and all I had was a club to deal with it, and it was attacking the other person, so when do you bash without hitting the person you are trying to protect?

Good question, when do you bash without hurting the person you are trying to protect? Same problem with bullets. When do you fire away, and hit the target, rather than the other poor human in the same predicament? The two are too close. Too enmeshed for a sure shot on the mark.

Reminds me of my son. Speaking up is like striking or bashing. Keeping quiet is complicity.

Martha gave me the most wonderful book about headstrong sons that we love and fear for. The Stardust Lounge by Deborah Digges.

The other choice, it seems, is to understand that these angry young men learned everything from their moms. Digges navigated the muddied waters of her son’s teenage years pretty much the same as I, with terror and trepidation.

Then she turned a corner. Allowed him the strength of his convictions – the space gave him the opportunity to figure out the ramifications of his actions, and to really choose his course. It worked. Thanks, Deborah, for you insight…