GOLDFISH LIVING

I’m naturally a minimalist.  I PRIDE myself on being a minimalist. So, how did I end up like a goldfish? From my farm house to fat jeans, I have expanded to fit my space. Lawd, help me, I’m a dad-gum diva trapped in a goldfish’s body. In fact, I have cornered the market when it comes to goldfish living. If I keep expanding, soon all the water will be out of my bowl, and I’ll be gasping for my last breath.

Help found me, as it often does as I blither through life. It came in the form of a couple of boys…. winter boredom was setting in and our third gold fish, Tom, had passed…..bringing a true tale of hope.

Once upon a wheat field… a bitterly cold wind was blowing, bringing wind chills below zero, and we were stuck inside gathered around the wood stove on another Christmas break day. My boys had their chores done, video game allowances used up, rooms clean, musical instruments practiced…and it was early. I sat at my desk, as I often do, contimplating life, wondering if I REALLY wanted to start homeschooling some day in the future…..

Mom?” It was my youngest, I call him alot of things but today…

“What is it, Smook-ta-pook?”

“Ummm, me and W were wondering….You know my gold fish, what died a few days ago? You know, Tom, you know?”

(He talks like his uncle.)

“Yes!”

“Can we have a funeral for him?”

“Sure, yeah, that would be great.”

“And, and, and, dress up for it like they did on Second Hand Lions?”

“That’s fine.” I said and went back to contimplating life. Died a few days ago? I am a failure. Who lets a floater keep floating? “I get to be Pastor…” W said looking for a Bible and a tie.

“I get to flush him”

“No I do.”

“He’s MY fish…”

“Hey, that’s enough! Who ever owns the fish, gets to flush him…” I can’t believe I just said that.

After the wardrobe was established, the funeral percession was started. It was sad. (Note, the open, slotted casket.) The eulogy was short, as was the precious life….

The prayer….long and colorful.

…we ask this, in the Father…and the Son…and in the Hole He goes….”Flush ‘em, Smook.”

We have take off….

“Now I get to be the Pastor” (Smook, practicing) “…in the father, and the Son and the Scary Ghost…Amen. Mom, what else can we bury?”

Bury? A burial at sea for our Tom, the King! I guess I should be thankful they didn’t set him on fire before sending him down the river. Freedom at last. I guess all drains do lead to the ocean….just ask Nemo! And we all lived happily ever after…

The Morol of the story…Floaters should be flushed.
It’s crazy to think, as I sit here crowded by all this STUFF, I am bumbarded with news of some over-spent, stuffed Americians, convinced they are entitled to a bailout. America was built on tough pioneers who in the bleakest times could pull THEMSELVES up by their own bootstraps, get their calloused hands dirty and swim upstream. A far cry from floating for a bailout.

Personally, I’m tired of the Jone’s goldfish living being hip. It’s not zen or green. It’s wasteful, gobbling up time, money and other precious resources. Bailout? No tanks! (Sorry, that’s twisted.) I think change starts in my own fishbowl. I’m swimming upsteam, back to self respect (as soon as I figure out how to stuff myself into this mermaid suit). For me, the criteria is simple, if it doesn’t give balance and meaning to this simple life…it will be flushed away. What will you release to the BIG DRAIN this year, to get your pride and life back?

Simply, 

Sis

Tags: bailout, kids, organize, simplify, zen living