Sunday, October 5, 2025
Time: 5:42 PM
Song: Dirtiest Uniforms
Artist: Chicago Farmer
Mode of Consumption: Listening to “Midwest Revue” on 94.7 FM
Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/3J92ZeGrVSTwidW0fyYUGe?si=1d07b75a76564a27
I remember going to a wedding with Jodi shortly after we were married. I believe it was for someone she worked with. I can’t say for sure, other than I remember not really knowing anyone there.
I do remember a toast given by maybe the father of the bride, or perhaps it was her brother. I forget now who it was, but the compliment he emphasized about the groom was that he “wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.”
Now, this isn’t a completely literal statement.
He was basically emphasizing that the groom was someone who was willing to do hard work.
I remember thinking that I don’t really like to get my hands dirty. What does that mean about me?
Well, I likely won’t be found tinkering with a car engine or replacing piping in my house.
But I don’t run away from manual labor.
In fact, if I could make a living being the guy that lifted hay bales on the rack or stacked them in the mow, I’d be perfectly happy. Plus, I’d be in much better physical shape. I just don’t care to be the guy that drives the tractor or learns how to run and maintain the equipment. It’s just not how my brain works.
I spent my twenties and thirties putting in long hours at the newspaper. A gig with lots of stress and more tasks than could be completed in a single shift almost every shift. The people who understood the job, realized that I was working hard. The people that don’t probably thought I should have been doing more.
I’d like to go to “work” less nowadays, but that’s also because I have projects – including writing ones – that I would rather be working on. I don’t really worry about being bored once I retire.
Still I don’t like to get my hands dirty.
I still don’t know what that means about me.
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