What Happened To Warm And Fuzzy Feelings?

Recently I have been pruning and chopping and sawing away at over grown trees and bushes, especially those that were blocking my water views across the lake.

They had to be stripped and sorted into different piles ready for further reduction and finally being loaded onto trucks and taken off to the local tip 25kms away.

It was quite an enjoyable exercise in between the bouts of rain common in coastal areas such as this.

I have been pondering tonight if I could be chopped up and sorted into the twigs, small branches, limbs, and finally the long bare trunks that are so heavy even now the smaller branches are gone into another pile, and which bits of me would end up in which pile?

I don’t have the answer. Perhaps my brain into the twigs and leaf pile, my arms into the small branches, and my trunk, well, you guessed it.
My brain would be the interesting bit to dismantle and I have often wondered what Freud would do about me and my brain?

In the old days life was much simpler. When your kids got crazy in the head you smacked them on the bottom. They survived and you weren’t thrown in jail over it either. You taught them right from wrong with a little help from a paddle of some sort and they gradually learned to compromise by adding some well place padding to their pants when they suspected a confrontation and deemed it to be preferable to confession.

When labouring in the garden became too much for the aged householder you sought out the local scout leader, for they lived by their creed to help people and were repaid by donations to their group or a jolly good feed or two where money was tight in that home
It worked well, and everyone enjoyed a warm fuzzy feeling that they had helped and been helped in some form.

Not all progress has been an improvement I feel.

Well, that’s the way it was long, long, ago.
My brain is petrified or putrefied by sucking up coffee fumes all evening so you can ponder where I left off.
Let me know how you went?

Wyn.