Sometimes it's just too complicated

Reading other people's blogs brings out a lot of different feelings. Like, is my life more complicated, less complicated, do I think deep thoughts or am I a shallow person who only focuses on herself and isn't even very good at that? I've always thought I wasn't very capable of deep analysis of myself or situations: remember, I had my brother and my sister as role models (not to mention my father, who subscribed to Punch, the British humor magazine, and I didn't even understand the cartoons, let alone the articles). My mother once wrote of me that she would never worry about me because, although Henry and Molly were very bright, I would always be ok because I was cute. Later I discovered (not until college, though) that I too was bright. I never understood philosophy, though, which seemed to come easily to my brother and sister. I STILL don't understand philosophy, except for some basics of the easier and most obvious stuff, but I gave up defining my intelligence by that a long time ago.

Anyway, today I feel semi-smart. I understand MARC format, which apparently is elusive to many people. I chalk that up to a lack of interest more than anything else--people don't want to know MARC format, or they'd understand it. I don't think it's complicated, but lots of people do. Chalk one up for me.

I understand the reason behind a poodle's show cut (my psychiatrist and I discussed this during my appointment this morning--he has a poodle, much to his disappointment). I know plenty of things about why things are the way they are in nature, but I don't attribute that to intelligence, except when it comes to really understanding the ways of the earth. Like, I can recognize some constellations but I don't really understand the stuff about earth's rotation or axis stuff, and I can't remember during which solstice we're closest to the sun (I think it's the winter) or why we are. And I sure don't understand much about physics. I used to cry about chemistry in high school. My mother thought my brother could tutor me in algebra but he got so frustrated he gave up because he couldn't get down to my level to help me.

I know a lot about dogs and even about dog psychology. The other day I got to watch The Dog Whisperer (whose methods I don't totally agree with) when he went to work with John Grogan, who wrote Marley and me, the bestseller about a bad, bad Labrador retriever. The Grogans have a new Lab and are just as clueless as they were with the first one. At least I know how to train a dog, even if I don't train my own.

I know a lot about cars and how they run. That comes from putting together plastic model cars with my brother when I was a kid. We had lots and lots of fun with that. I loved doing it. We'd put the engine parts together, glue the cool seats in the cars, the gear shifts on the steering columns, the bumpers on, lots of parts. Then we'd decide what color we wanted to paint the car--a tough decision, then we'd buy the paint, which came in little square bottles. My favorite ever, the one I was proudest of was a Dodge Polaris, maroon with white bench seats. A real beauty. Real rubber tires, whitewalls with chrome hubcaps and metal axles. I also learned a lot about cars when I lived with two men who were obsessed with their Austin Healeys. One of them was a race car driver, Formula 4 (Indianapolis is Formula 1).

Here's what I do know: I know that it's Dale Earnhart, the NASCAR driver, and Amelia Earhart, the aviatrix. They don't know that in Tupper Lake--they think Amelia is related to Dale and her name is Earnhart. In Upper Jay they don't think anything has changed in Leathercraft since 1962.

I also know that, although I profess to have a deep respect for automobiles, that does not apply (apparently) to my own. The contents of the passenger compartment of the front of my car include: 2 partially consumed bottles of Diet Mtn Dew, 2 audio books I really, really will listen to, a gizmo my mother gave me for Christmas which is guaranteed to jump start your battery from another car using the power outlet in the dashboard, napkins from Dunkin' Donuts for when I cry, gloves for when I need to carry firewood, a bottle of Angostura Bitters to take to Ken's tonight for the finishing touch on my drink and a package of hot dogs the Ken and I will eat for dinner tonight. There is also a lot of dirt on the floor. The back seat has no seatbelts (thank you, Tess), a pile of old newspapers I dropped in the mud on Saturday, a half-empty box of Diet Coke, a chewed-in-half leash (thank you, Tess), an ice scraper, an empty paper bag (neatly folded), some empty bottles of Diet Mtn Dew and cans of Diet Coke (supposed to go in the bag), lots of rubber bands (the mailman gives me one every day around my mail and I toss it in the back seat when I pick up my mail on the hardtop) and a lot, lot, lot of dog hair (I will vacuum the seats and floors one of these days). My car is disgusting, and it's only 2 years old. A big old dent in the right rear panel because I backed into a grove of trees without even looking. A broken front bumper because I hit a piece of firewood at -10 and plastic shatters at that temperature. At least everyone knows it's my car because there's a big hole in my bumper--everyone waves at me when I drive around.

So let's see, I'm working on Akwesasne's stuff today. They're on the reservation so it's Blackhawk's bond and The man from Montana. I'm always surprised when they buy westerns.