Dirtbags

Over the weekend I was moving dirt for my parents. At one point I was using all my might to move a wheelbarrow down a rutty path in the woods. Yes, the load was too full, but that’s because my husband thinks I’m He-Man. Or She-Ra, whatever (Cringer was the best). Anyway, I’m zigging and zagging with this wheelbarrow—borrowed from the barn, mind you, so it’s got dried cow poop on all the lower parts—and I’m struggling not to overturn it so I don’t spill the load or need to grab any of the under parts to steady it.

That’s when it occurs to me that I need to talk myself through this. I need a mantra or my attitude is going to go south really fast.

So I say, “You’re strong. You’ve got this. You’re strong.” And I start to feel strong, but then I almost lose the load to the right so I start saying, “You’re strong. You’re balanced. You’re strong. You’re balanced.” This makes me laugh.

I’m sweating, dirty, red-faced, and chanting through my effort in the woods hoping no one hears me.

“You’re sooo unbalanced, you dizzy girl,” says a hilarious voice in my head. And really, she’s right. A person must be unbalanced to do whatever it is that I’m doing. But okay, I’m coming unglued here. So I start again, “You’re strong. You’re balanced…” this time with a grin/grimace on my face.

And I make it to the clearing, across the little footbridge, and into the yard without spilling too much dirt.

My first point is: It wasn’t pretty. Like, at all. But I got it done and like [almost] always, I had a pretty good attitude about it, which is my second point. In a world full of human error and cow poop wheelbarrows and a lack of dirt bags from a garden store, sometimes you just need a hearty mantra to get on with it.