Trina Machacek: Yes, yes I understand. Not! |

Trina Machacek: Yes, yes I understand. Not!

By Trina Machacek

Understanding comes with age. And patience. Noticing things has become almost an obsession for me. Mostly because I enjoy people watching.

People are the most amazing when they are animated. Waving arms and hot footing through life experiences. My other half could not talk to you without moving his hands. Showing as he talked what was on his mind and how he was going to fix, build or recreate something amazing.

Once when my sister-in law was over he asked her if she had ever seen a spool tractor. She had not. So he gave me a short list of things needed to build this spool tractor at the dining room table. Among the things he asked for I gathered a wooden spool of thread a rubber band a couple of stick matches and within just a few minutes across the table went this thing that looked just like a lumbering tractor. Up and over the match over and over again until the rubber band ran out of “fuel.”

Now I say all that like I absolutely remember it. However, ask me to make one and I will be dumb as a box of rocks. I have no idea how he did it even though after he did his show we all tried it and made the silly thing run across the table over and over again.

If you were to ask me if I knew about this spool tractor thing I would stand in front of you and shake my head up and down and say that yes, I understand. I still have it sitting on a shelf and I look at it sometimes but have enough understanding to not try to rebuild it least I screw up the dynamics and lose what I have in my memory. Because I truly do not understand or remember how he did it or how to re-do it.

Sometimes it’s interesting to see people when they are deep into conversation. One is usually talking and the other is nodding in agreement or understanding. I don’t do that much anymore for two reasons. The first and biggest reason is because I have developed this annoying habit of drifting away.

My concentration level certainly needs to be attended to. It’s like I’ve sprung a leak in my concentration reservoir. Not because conversation is not interesting. I love to chitty chat. But there have been times that I catch myself looking at the person in front of me and I think — wow I have no idea what we were talking about. Not being rude, just inattentive. A very bad habit to fall into and I am working on it constantly.

The second reason is because I truly have no idea what some of the words are that are being said to me. But! Yes a confused “but.” I will interrupt a conversation without shame to ask what a word means. I know a lot of words for sure.

However as I get around more people as my life changes, because I have not been around a lot of people in my lifetime, there are words out there that I think I know what they mean but instead of putting my foot entirely into my mouth and swallowing, I find if I just put up my finger and ask a question, the talker in front of me happily becomes a teacher.

More and more though I am finding I have knowledge of things that I didn’t think I knew. For all the years I was married apparently I was a sponge of things being taught to me. Like I know the difference between a 454 and a 302 motor. One you need a lot of gas to make it go! HAHA

I know a titch about carburation and a ton about the water that comes off the mountain I look at every day. It’s amazing to me how stuff still surfaces from my high school sewing teacher. I will stand in front of you and shake my head yes, yes when talking nearly anything about sewing. My goodness the human brain is an amazing instrument isn’t it?

I have learned somewhere along the way that the brain does not like to be touched. That is an amazing fact to me. The skin likes to be touched, and apparently the rest of your innards are OK with being handled — and then put back into place please!

But for some unknown reason the brain does not like human touch. Which is really quite amazing seeing it is the one thing that runs the entire show for the rest of the body. Wow! Just another thing that, “No, no I do not understand.”

Trina lives in Eureka, Nevada. Her book, They Call Me Weener is available on