When I was younger...the ages 7-13....I remember the summers at 4116 77th Place Circle. New construction, cul-de-sac home with plenty to do in the yard. My parents were (are) avid landscapers of their own yard: vegetable gardens, bushes, trees, flowers of all kinds. If you drive by this house today, the yard is a variable jungle with a gorgeous canopy of trees and a fence that lines the backyard property line. I remember watching my father build the 6 foot fence by hand which took him all summer that year. We, (my sisters and I) in turn, would help where expected and without exception. "Don't just stand there, pick up a shovel," my dad said. "We need to move this pile of rock out of the driveway." Delivered rock for flowerbeds sat in the driveway waiting to be transported throughout the yard and there was no one better to do this but the Blixt girls with their father. (At the time, that was more of a bitter question than a statement. Really, dad? You expect us to move rock?)Did I believe I was the right person for this job at the time? Um....no. Do I fall back on that memory almost daily at this point in my life - definitely. The real question I ask myself regularly is why that memory. Why should I instinctively remember my father telling me to get busy and help shovel rock? It seemed so unfair that he expected a bunch of little girls to shovel rock, let alone be able to lift it into the wheel barrow. Maybe he didn't intend this outcome at the time, but I remember that lesson above many others because it taught me how to do what it takes regardless of any ill perceptions I have of myself. It is important to pitch in, do what is necessary for the greater good, and work hard. In a world where others are looking for a way out of doing what is right and honorable, my father taught me the desire to work hard. Lately, working hard has gotten "harder".
I have developed a fear of failure that wasn't there before. Working harder could mean that I'll fall that much further when the bottom gives out. And lately, the bottom just won't stay "in". Doubt, fear, anger, bitterness are constant as of late and I miss the days when it was as easy as picking up a shovel to do a good job for my dad. Funny how I ended up on my own front walk just last week, shoveling and doing yard work. I drifted towards doing the mundane work of scooping mulberries but finished up feeling relieved, about myself and my anger. Something about a wooden handle of a shovel has always been my saving grace. I did what it took to make my front walk clear, but most importantly I strengthened my spirit when the fear was just too heavy. I remembered that I AM strong -styrka-....
