Boredom

When I grew up, I thought "boredom" was a bad word--because if I ever claimed to be in that state, Carlene, my mama, would always offer an unsavory cure: like hanging out the clothes on a cold day, or cleaning the bathtub, or bringing in the dry sheets on a summer day.  So I learned to find things to do that weren't boring, anything but complaining would do!

As it turns out, one of my favorite things to photograph--though it's rare to find one--is a clothesline with colorful clothes hanging on it, or a string of drab trousers even.  In Amish country on Mondays--that's a good place to find clotheslines.

This morning Carlene, still my mama, still Carlene, sent me an apt passage from one of Fred Buechner's books:

BOREDOM OUGHT TO BE ONE
of the seven deadly sins. 
It deserves the honor. 

You can be bored by virtually anything if you put your mind to it, or choose not to. You can yawn your way through Don Giovanni or a trip to the Grand Canyon or an afternoon with your dearest friend or a sunset. There are doubtless those who nodded off at the coronation of Napoleon or the trial of Joan of Arc or when Shakespeare appeared at the Globe in Hamlet or when Lincoln delivered himself of a few remarks at Gettysburg. The odds are that the Sermon on the Mount had more than a few of the congregation twitchy and glassy-eyed. 

To be bored is to turn down cold whatever life happens to be offering you at the moment. It is to cast a jaundiced eye at life in general, including most of all your own life. You feel nothing is worth getting excited about because you are yourself not worth getting excited about. 

To be bored is a way of making the least of things you often have a sneaking suspicion you need the most. 

To be bored to death is a form of suicide.