A Sign of the Times

I have a friend who has been in the construction trade for decades.  He has headed up projects constructing entire subdivisions, as well as road and bridge construction.  He is now nearing retirement and for whatever reasons the company to whom he has given his life is now treating him badly before he exits.  He has been demoted from his multi-faceted responsibilities and lately they have him working as a “flagger.”  I should say, standing around and being bored out of his freakin’ mind as a flagger.  No offense to any flaggers, but a chimpanzee—on an off day—could perform the job.  (If you can earn that kind of income--read further-- doing what you do, more power to you.)

  
I didn’t realize this but apparently the state regards “flagging” so difficult that certification is required.  Flagging 101.  “Class, we will devote the entire morning to the intricacies of turning the sign.  Write this down:  turn it to the side that says GO when traffic can resume; turn it to the side that says STOP when you want traffic to, uh, stop.  Now, in groups of two’s practice this maneuver with each other until you can do so without notes.”

He feels humiliated that he may very well finish his career in this capacity.  Maybe that’s the whole purpose of the company doing this.  One of my favorite sites for sarcasm—despair.com—offers this “demotivator:” 

I think that’s their attitude--dead wrong, but thoroughly convinced.

It gets absurdly funny.  He tells me that a flagger will start out at  around $28 an hour, some of them working 14-16 hours a day, time and a half on Sat., and double-time on Sun.  Here’s the “welcome to America” moment.  At some of the bridge or RR crossing construction sites flaggers are standing at attention with their signs for 8-16 hours but, get this--the road is completely barricaded, closed to all traffic.  There are no “flagees,” only a solitary flagger.  I think this is absolutely brilliant.  Only in America

Maybe there’s a metaphor here.  Am I “flagging” a non-existent crowd?  Do I get on any one of my personal soapboxes and provide answers to questions people aren’t asking?    Am I intersecting with the traffic of humanity around me or am I off in my own little world waving irrelevant signs?  Am I on roads no one is traveling, not because I'm so advanced but because I'm clueless?  


And why am I waving an abrasive sign in someone's face, anyway?

Life is Both/And, Not Either/Or

Life is good; life is gory. Life is exhilarating; it can be exhausting. People are delightful; they can be diabolical. My neighbor's dog is loved by them and loathed by me. Heaven is glimpsed in a sunrise; horror is revisited in the middle of the night. I laugh til I'm crying; I cry til I fear I'll never laugh again.

There is such anticipation I can't get to sleep; there can be such fear I'm afraid to go to sleep. I don't want this day to ever end; I dread what the next day holds. One day I'm atop the peak viewing awe-inspiring vistas; the next day I've fallen into a deep dark crevice and no one can find me.

It seems it was only yesterday they were making their promises; today they're filing their papers.

Yesterday I was sprinting; today I'm in a fetal position immobilized by apathy. Today a feast, tomorrow I may scavenge for crumbs. Today a dance, tomorrow a dirge. Today I feel I'm 20 again; tomorrow something shows up on an x-ray.

Babies are birthed, babies are aborted. The elderly are loved for their wisdom; too much hassle, the old are shipped off to a sterile facility.

The company needs you and bleeds you; the company gives you a plaque once you have no life left in you. Work is a waste; work is wonderful. There are days the eight hours fly; there are days when it will never end.

There are days when I can't wait to hear about it; there are times when I fear my friend will never shut up. Days when my hands are open, times when my fists are clenched. One day, words can be sweet and consoling; the next, swift to pounce and kill. The same mouth both bludgeons and blesses.

There is Mystery in the madness; there is Meaning in the maze. We are divine dust and there is magic in that mix. God is in it; God transcends it. If God were merely in it, I might be comforted but I would have no hope for anything changing. If God is both in it and above or beyond it then I have faith that he is neither contained nor confined by it. Therefore, I endure the assault and enjoy the ascent.

There is the prospect of healing and hope not only when life feels heavenly but in the very hell of it all.