Conception Is An Everyday Thing

It's happening all the time, this thing called conception. We take what's given to us and make something of it. Those two postulates form the basis of all life's conditions.

Now that I've said this, my "other" self is saying, "Yeah, so what?" Well, starting with myself, I have a fairly good idea of what and who I am, my strong points and shortcomings. Others may think what they will about me but there's no one who knows me better than myself. In a sense, every moment of my life I am conceiving myself, my feelings, my place, my intentions, my very being. I can't help it. I'm gestating a new/old "me" every minute of my life. This is not as in human reproduction where a mother and father have much to do with it. I graduated from that stage as I grew up and became my own person.

To continue, I'm looking around my house and thinking how like my mental house it is. I try to keep it clean but there are hidden corners that need to be exposed, purged, re-arranged. This happened day before yesterday. I'd engaged some rug cleaners to come in and clean my bedroom carpet and the living room area rug. That meant I needed to pull everything occupying the floor of my closet out as well as all moveable objects on the rest of the carpet and rug. The house looked like chaos had struck! Two guys burst in the door with their big equipment, a sales pitch for up-grading, a clip-board to sign away the agreed payment, and in a half hour the place had been "sanitized, steam cleaned, and Scotch guarded." I had to live in a mess until the rugs dried and this was not pleasant. I need to be able to look around my dwelling and be pleased by what I see as much as any artist needs to look at his work and like it. Yesterday, putting things away again was a slow process, but now that it's done and things are in better order than before, I'm happy.

One change that took place was this: a three-way dressing table mirror, not too large, was sitting way back in the closet. I got it out and put it on my desk. Now as I work at the computer I can see the living room as if I were looking through a window. I always have enjoyed mirror views of things. A grocery bag full of old photographs, also found on the closet floor, reminded me that I need to get busy on my memoir with pictures that Wally K. has been urging me to write. I've brought it out near the desk so it will jog me into action. A couple of smaller area rugs have been put in different places. Now I see them in a new light.

The point of all this is that getting older is getting better because I have time to ponder the insignificant and make it significant enough to feature it in print. In the process I've conceived of a fresher and newer me. I feel obliged now to let my little mirror prove that.