grit and grime
Back from my ride there’s sand in my teeth.
It was that muddy. My bike is plastered in dirty.
I’m a walking ball of grit.
Gritty.
That grit has become mixed up with sweat body oil and bike grease creating a side of grime.
Yeah, it’s not merely the grit that I love.
For me, I’m all about the grit and the grime. I think it’s in my blood. My grandfather drove oil trucks, gravel trucks and logged in the winter. Each of these occupations are beset with girt and grime.
My other grandfather had a taxi stand. He operated one of a very few licensed drinking establishments in our city. He was a free range medic, serving the shell shocked survivors second big ugly war in Europe. There was considerable grit and a great deal of grime that would have likely been in the vicinity of many of his business endeavors.
I love feeling gritty, greasy and grimy. After a day of riding, splashing through puddles and bashing through bogs I come home caked with mud. There are bits of dirt, bushes and small rocks anywhere the hair grows. They say a rolling stone gathers no moss? Well, a hairy body catches small stones.
Do with that what you will.
Working with a chainsaw has added another dimension to the picture. Sticky. Sap is sticky and smells sweet. Sweaty, gritty, greasy, grimy and sticky sweet with sap. I can not describe a state more ecstatic than that.
Professionally too, I’ve been attracted to grime. Where my mother might attack baseboards with a cloth and spray bottle, I spelunk lives for places where rot and grime combine.
When you hear the words ‘grimy, shadowy, seedy, gritty, slimy’ what’s your reaction? Do you move away or lean in?
If you move away, how did you do it? Did you balk, squirm or merely discard the idea?
How are you grimy?
What is the grit in your life? What slime makes it grime?
Where do you feel grimy? How does that move?
Imitate that description.
What room do you have for the griminess of others?
Make that physical.
The inherited love of an environment or vocation amuses me.
My Dad was a boiler maker (engine worker), a trucker and a heavy duty mechanic. He didn't understand what a professional accountant did, let alone one who didn't major in accounting in university. He asked one day. I thought about the best way to communicate it to him. I smiled. "I'm a mechanic for business. I examine it to see how it's running, looking for ways to improve it. If it isn't working, I design a rebuild. I look for efficiencies, so it uses less fuel for the same or better output. I make sure its agile and responsive to changes in the road ahead and ensure we can see clearly what's next in time to change direction."
He liked that. I am my father's daughter. Mom's, too. I like to think I inherited the best of both of them.