Robustly Musing August and Musical Things….and More

Robustly Musing August and Musical Things.

by Heidi Robertson 8/11/2013


On the back of a government van at the Dam Operator’s home near the Dam Jam, I found an advertisement for water conservation that said:


“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.


With the shortage of water hanging heavily on many people’s minds, and at the peak of fire season, the message of conservation comes as sage advice, and moderation in all things wise. And so with messages of import, this one possessing layers of meaning for me, came very powerfully, just before I trespassed my way back home. And flew up and over Rockport Dam forever honoring and sustaining my own law, romping around the Federally marked “No Trespassing” Spill Way signs. Passed the “Don’t Throw Rocks” in the Spill Way (accept at mean boys and meaner attack dogs for the sake of victims such as Emma Smith of Wanship) on a path I beat out with my feet, syncapated to bluegrass rifts through the willows and across the Weber River to our farm’s green belt easement. Easily spent pleasing myself and a sideways crescent moon smile.

 Because it’s Sunday, I saw the Dam Operator, a friend at church, and kind of apologized…..not really, informed him of my activities. He gave me his blessing. and quickly decided that perhaps the advertised advise would better serve me in situations other than this one, like maybe… pondering and decision making through a “Do No Harm” filter that I should check for holes. Nope….no holes. 🙂

 Glad I decided to go to the Dam Jam. Mazaltoff! Hooray! Only regret was that I didn’t go the night before as well. Now look forward to spilling over in my love for this spontaneous romp year after year to their beer after beering. Know I will keep on keeping on joyously, like a Jewish bride at a wedding celebration. And like a fiddler on the roof of the Old Rock Church. Think this would be a keen place to be married if I were some other Evangelical religion, and had a promissorry ringing in my ears. Keeping an eye out for David Bates’ band, and Steve Hewson and his girls for my reception dance.


I can’t escape this fallen in love feeling in listening and glancing, as I follow with my eyes, a young woman through the Dam Jam crowd, making her way from friend to friend conversations, eating dutch oven chicken, puppy loving several solitary, dogs, who are for hours waiting, waiting, waiting, and not too often whining for caregivers to lay down acoustic guitars, close up viloin cases, mandolins, and drums, make spaces for tail wagging, licky kisses, and burr detecting rub downs. The dogs and everyone in this gypsy gathering could easily love this woman.


Then her friend or drop-in partner begins with his hands. The boy with the dark curly locks is beating out a lover’s rhythm, the two harmonizing sweetly, and dinstinctively over three cast aside, old Meryl Haggards, who are darling in their own old respective ways.


I cast their songs aside for I am mesmerized by this sultry angel. Blended voices move together, closer, toward a kind of mating dance that builds and hangs in apex. Then, in mid lyric sentence….oh! Ends suddenly, and as spontaneously as it started without resolutionl And without a missed beat, she is back to making people happy, and making love to bar-b-que chicken legs and micro beer, like ambrosia of the gods. And another tan and cheery woman stands and comes toward me saying disappointedly, “The orgasm is over.” Find myself replying in softer undertones, “ And it was so shortlived…” as were my dibbs on dinner.


It’s getting late, well on toward 8:00 p.m., and I begin to get cold, bare armed without my fuzzy sweater, and bared legged, feeling rather naked now, so I resolve to move along. Gone, to the handsome cigar smoking quiet cowhand in the back pew. Gone, farther and farther away from the heavenly sounds and smells of Piggly Wiggly home cooking, and music. I rock hop up the dam through scratchy wire grass and sage brush. 8:00 shadowed dam, thinking, “Just because I have permission to trespass a Dam-nation doesn’t mean I have free reign of any and every other wild colt adventure I would have.” Hmmm. Or do I have permission?


So once I’m home and on the grid again, I share this sentiment with a friend asking for feedback, keeping in mind a Jo Boalerism from MATHS class: “I am giving you this feedback because I believe in you. A belief I would like to own and keep close to me always in perpetuating in my classroom practice. Fact is, I’m never disappointed in my friend’s food ware, delivered on a lovely China plate, and Kerioed away and back, FedEx-actly what I need to hear in reply to bumper sticker phrasing:


Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should” is what I offered her.


Just because you shouldn’t, doesn’t mean you can’t….probably just means you won’t,” was her reply.


She is right in writing this. Most often “Can’t” means “Won’t.” and folkes more often lose their nerve in fearing.


Decide I must be willing to take RISKS …..tisk, tisk…but how to decide which ones. I imagine deciding follows a creative process here as well,




but divine intervention so very helpful. Must pray more.


I think she is on to something with this. Yes. “Can’t” frequently means “Won’t.” ha ha My coaching counterpart, Yance Fawcett, hates the word “Can’t” and makes swimmers get out of the pool and drop ten pushups when they share the sentiment. Part of the rewiring I suppose. Hope they can see he cares and only wants to fire synapsis, not break will, build neuro pathways, technique and muscle memory. A winning mindset, eventually some playful Swagger. But for now in the the most immediate sense, mental certitude, and dedication. I conceal my laughter best I can, and then in joining with offenders, drop a pathetic ten flabby abs, along side compadres, busting up and making Yance more bent on coaching, as I wonder if he is irritated by my style of jeerleading. Truth is I would support him if he asked me to. I mostly do.


I was thinking about this “Can’t” on the mountain. Actually…..I have been increasingly pondering the CANTON sign in the right turn to my friend’s Heber house. One time thinking I Can’t go to there, and actually didn’t, even though I wanted to. Realized that wanting is not enough reason to do some things….and wanting not always yielding the best choice. And NOT going or doing, sometimes the better choice. Wish I was more KNOWING and in tune.


Try to be intuitive. At times I am in tune with this gift. Must listen to whisperings and to the Soul. Sometimes easier than others. Sometimes must question my own motives, which is not the most desirable approach when caught up in the sweetest, strongest emotions. Prefer highs to lows, so often go and over stay. What can I say?


Kind of bothered by the way the CANTON Chinese Restaurant looks, depressed, abandoned, mostly no sign of life. In no way looking enlightened to me as I think the book Where the Mountain Meets the Moon would require. Somehow I expect it to be something that it is not. Some how I expect a fake facade to come to life in talking roof top lion ornaments.The message coming across “I CAN ON, instead of “I CAN’T ON.”


“I CAN’T ON” briefly crossed my mind at the top portion of the Timp Climb. There are two sections that are particularly challenging. One is crossing the scree, a large rock slide, initially large bolders at tricky angles. A Jo Boaler Geometry task just waiting to happen. Problematic is the sun in beating down in full force here. The other place, near the top in a section of loose shifty shale, an even more treacherous rocky out croping. Near the top fatigue sets in and doubting.


In both spots exists a large concentration of loud, reverberating, degrading grasshoppers. I suppose they like to sun here. They taunt and bully, flying at your face, in their negative noise making, recklessly buzzing by like loud Apache helicopters. Shout at hikers as if to say “You CAN’T do it. WHy try!”


In looking closer they rub and flap in an attempt to fly but, they’re the ones denied, ones who CAN NOT sustain, and are rendered flightless. Grounded, in spite of yellow flapping wings, and seemingly happy, social renderings, come across most loudly and offensive in negative greetings. Read disclamers and side effects to so many phamaceuticals promising prime time cures on commercials. I wonder how pharmacists like the Piotrowskis can morally and ethically live with their carreer choice in knowing truths. A thousand ugly pill box voices celebrating a slow and certain death by perscription, calling Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday…I move through these areas as quickly as I possibly CAN! Rejecting generic and name brands. All of them. Instead, I’m seeking living waters.


I have started refering to the creatures as CAN’T ON CITY CRICKETS, like some kind of elite, undefeatable Park City La Cross or Cricket team even though they are really only amateur grasshoppers and self defeating in their behavior. They do not move on or progress well, even from misery to misery. I only stick with the notion of crickets rather than grasshoppers, because crickets work better for aliteration in the writing, and I need some villainous characters. Step on the ones I can as I clomp by.


Then one exhausting evening in driving home from hiking, I pass through Heber and notice one small light on inside Canton, a neon OPEN sign. Hmm. I think this peculiar, almost encouraging. Not really. Still, I think I will use something of this imagery and metaphore in my book somehow, a small redeeming grace for hometown buffets, chow mein and grasshoppers.


How and why do we get to these places of “shouldn’t, can’t, won’t, don’t?” I wonder. And by the same token, what leads us to “should, can, will, DO! If not for our thinking….and these connected to to our feelings we believe are real. Most often wrong assumptions.


“MUST FEEL GOOD!” comes bubbling up into my brain and out my mouth like Cascade Springs. “MUST FEEL HAPPY,” I continue in this line of argument as if driven to collect a bucket of sweet affirmations, like black currents to a jam. Perpetuate the POSITVE THOUGHT CYCLE in the picking and choosing the juiciest and plumpest sweet thoughts and utterances. Eat as many juicy berries as I can find place for. This nourishment has come to mean… “Stick with the things that have proven to work,” as in the things that combat STRESS….those seven paractices offered by Don Tolman, but that read a lot like the Happiness magazine, and Happier television guides. Happiness is dosed out weekly, for free at the Summit Merc, like Senior Citizen lunches on Wednesdays with Ashley Potter. The ones with puzzles, and recipes, and storie and sometimes cards, and Power Ball trips to Wendover. Stories unworthy of headliners and local t.v. News broadcasts, but of the sweetest makings, more positive than the tripe we’re fed and subscribe to like processed microwaved dinners. Empty carbs for beginners.


“MUST FEEL GOOD” like every time I see the office door open promising all the best things, like shooting stars and sparkles, and bubbles, and smiles, and children hanging on your every word and acknowledgement. Everything lovely, praiseworthy and of good report. I seek after these and others like it: swimming, recovery, rest, early bedtime, early rising, exercise, wholesome food, water, sunshine, love; as well as in avoiding predictable negative settings, or situations when I CAN.


I work on visualizing that “I CAN.” Chunk it, like Chicken of the Sea with lots of mayonaise, roasted almonds, and cranberries. Breaking the task into small steps and bites. Celebrating in a smile each small progression. And like the Mermaid that I am, I can hold my breathe for distances if I must, but mostly I have learned to smile in taking breath in the rhythm of my finning. I am sure Amberly and other guards have seen this, and may even know my secret. It does not matter. I am self contained and more content in knowing they accept me as I am… but more importantly, I accept myself. Along with unicorns, and elves, and old Narnians.

I zone out all the outside stuff, unless it’s out in Nature. The smiling has the same effect as skipping down a smooth trail…..not in the pool, but on the trail when I ‘ve grown legs and adapted. I flick my tail, magically. It is well. It’s powerful. A kind of recalibration, frequency boost, and when accompanied with happy, grateful thoughts even more powerful. Cleansing breath works too. Sometimes focus on the “Outcome.” Sometimes hum, or thumb in making grass whistles.


This all works quite well for me in the physical realm, but more difficult in practical teaching, which professionally requires more and more of me…maybe. What of this notion that less is more? Where does this fit? Again how to decide. Sometimes much easier to believe someone is deciding for me. But this is a lie I’ve swallowed and eliminated. For starters, I will think on How to work smarter, not harder? How to keep balance. Patience. Forgiveness in view. Forgiveness of me, and of all the other…yous.


Just mess around with this next thing….and in no way figured it out, but it will likely come in the shuffle and regrouping. So, in an attempt to visualize these cycles I propose a kind of ebb and flow:


FEEL Fear= ?/ Doubt = Negativity = Can’t = Won’t = Don’t = DIG INTO Denial= Excuses = Blame= Additional Negativity =Lie Games = Compounded problem= Spinning in the Cycle = NEED FOR HELP = A CRY


FEEL PEACE=Be Still= Awake to God’s Will =See & Listen = Awareness = Value = Question= Discern = BRAVE = Forgive = Faith = Ask/Pray = Believe = Receive = Gratitude = Release= Peace Again


The Law of Attraction requires thought… time naturally produces action…..which in return brings back to us similar frequencies in likeminded people, and things. I hope that this includes more people and even friends, and musings, and musicians, and darling long haired daschunds, and passionate men, and lovely women. And someday I would like to know if Mermaids feel the need to have themselves rebaptized. Or if this sort of thing is even necessary for a Mermaid. Maybe not.


And what for Heaven’s sake was that one flipper doing wedged into the that aged rock face near the Rockport Spillway. Questons and Mysteries will linger on I think……long after Grand Champion sheep money is tucked safely in the bank, and little boys are fast asleep in bed dreaming of Mary’s little lamb at school, and Woolstenhulmes have sold their every first and last Spring Chicken sandwhich in the fair booth, and Back to School has come and led us into fall again. Robustly musing August and Musical Things will keep me smiling. 🙂




About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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