Bluebirds are back in force, as well as the Turkeys. The Gobblers are pitching woo for all they are worth. Spring is here.
If I remember my High School reading list correctly, the narrator of BF Skinner’s Walden Two claimed for himself the mindlessly menial job of sorting the nuts and bolts on the bench in the communal workshop. My version at Argue-ment, during times too wet or cool to work with the grass, is the ball sorting ritual that begins with the delivery of 100 dozen “experienced” golf balls. We tell our customers that, “since these balls have already spent part of their existence in the woods, tall grass, or the ponds, they know better than to go back there again…”
Like the final judgment sorting of sheep and goats, I consign some to resale and some to range. There is a mindless awareness involved, similar to that of hunting. If you look hard for something, you cannot see it, even when directly in front of you. It is a bit like seeing the deer or turkey at the far edge of the field while driving on Argue Rd, not so much an intellectual exercise of choice as it is a sensing of presence. I suspect the Gestalt practitioners would understand this as background from which a field of awareness coalesces into consciousness. The peculiar forms of the various brands and different levels of valuation quickly become habitual, as does the movement of the hand toward the appropriate bucket or egg carton. If you thought about this at all it would enervate. Just doing it frees the mind to wander.