Tank and top: Further adventures with my portable gas heater

Quite a while back I purchased a portable gas heater. This consisted of a top part, made in Brasil or by a Brasilian company. and a bottom round green tank. I was baffled as to how to work it. First, I saw vent holes in the stem of the top part. I went back to the store to ask why they were there. The store clerk explained that I didn’t have to worry about the holes, that they are intentional and that the flame will suck up the gas. Then, satisfied that most likely the heater wasn’t going to shoot flames out of those holes, I screwed the contraption together. I turned the knob and attempted to light the heater.

Nothing.

Well, then, what was the matter? Was there another knob to turn? Was the tank defective? Was it empty? I decided that maybe I needed to screw it together tighter, that perhaps the valve wasn’t opening properly.

That didn’t work. I knew if gas was really coming through, I’d hear a hiss, and also, the thing would light.

Nothing.

I consulted a few people. I tried their suggestions. When I still got no results, I decided to go back to the ferreteria and ask what I was doing wrong. I put this off forever. Too long. I fretted over my español.  I wondered if I went back there and screwed up trying to explain, I’d end up asking a totally irrelevant question:

Do you want fries with that?

So before I left, I planned out how to ask and explain. Most words I already knew, and the ones I was unsure of, I committed to memory.

Such is the life of an immigrant.

gas = gas
aquí = here
donde = where
nunca = never
to operate = functionar
qué precio = what price, or, Cuando cuesta = how much does it cost
to put = poner (or is it ponar? oops….)

So, off I went. I managed to stuff the heater into my knapsack. Oh, I know what you are waiting to hear.  That it lit up while on my back and then I jumped into a crowd. No, sorry, no adventures like that. Terrorism is for someone else, but for me, I only want to be warm.

Perhaps, then, I shouldn’t say, “off I went,” eh? I walked. Camino.  Rather carefully, since tripping with a tank of gas isn’t the best idea.

I arrived at the ferreteria. This one does a terrific business. They are always busy. That means customers take a number. Funny, though, they expect tall customers, hombres, perhaps, given that the numbers tape is so high up I can barely reach it. I never remember to take a number until after I’ve been standing there five minutes and watch customers come and go, come and go. My number was 21. Vienteuno. Most likely, I’m spelling that totally wrong.

I heard the numbers called, dieciocho, diecinueve, and then, a pause. I waited for vente. A year ago I would have been totally at a loss as to how to deal with this. The sales guy suddenly looked right at me. I placed my number on the counter, smiled, and said, “Vienteuno.” He smiled back. I told him I had a question (preguntar = to question) and then, opened my knapsack. I removed both parts. The extra screw part was already attached to the upper heater part. I pointed and said a bunch of words, trying to make a sentence. It’s hard to get all the conjugation correct when you are on the spot. I did okay. He totally understood. He explained that there was no gas in the tank, that it needed to be filled. It took a bit before I understood. I asked him if they filled the tanks there. He said they didn’t, but told me where to go. Near the licoria. He told me which way to turn. I asked him if it was on the IB. He said, “No.” I asked if it was on Circulavención. He said no, but explained which way to turn. Then, another customer said he was headed that way, and would drop me off. Again, it took me a bit to understand. Then, the store clerk told me to go. I can’t recall the word he used, as there are several that might apply, but I understood.

You might say it’s dumb to take a ride from strangers. Quit thinking like an estadosunidiense. Vamos. On the way, I used my broken español to converse with the hombre y su espousa. They asked me where I was from. I told them. A year ago, I sure couldn’t pronounce Estados Unidos. They were thrilled, and all three of us saw this as adventure, I suppose. We arrived at the place. I was laughing. Let me tell you, roughly a year ago, I took my ropas (clothes) to this place, thinking it was a lavadero. It is. But not for clothes.

 

So I told the couple who were driving me how confused I’d been a year ago, and how the person at the lavadero and I laughed together over my confusion. I never knew this place sold gas.

I wondered how much this was going to cost. I guessed that it wouldn’t be much. I had to wait a bit. A mujer arrived in a car. Inside the car were four of her dogs, all Yorkies, and keeping them company, another mujer. We discussed my favorite topic to discuss in español: perros. And of course, mi perrita. I do know how to describe in español just what a big baby Puzzle is. I think a Yorkie owner would understand, don’t you?

I often show people the photo I have in my cell phone:

 

This time, I didn’t think to show it off. It was cold out. Finally, the car wash guys were done, and the gas place opened for the afternoon. It was a quick and easy job. The man asked for the top of the heater so that he could ensure that it was all working fine. In a flash, heat. We were all satisfied. That cost me about $100 UY pesos, that is, under $4 USD. The current exchange rate is about 27 pesos per dollar.

 

 

Here is the view across the street:

Here is the licoria, nearby:

 

I can’t really tell, but I think there’s another shop tucked in between. The licoria tends to get busiest at night, of course.

 

I managed to get everything back into my knapsack, so I could walk home.

 

 

 

I arrived home and was rather chilled. Here’s my heater, now in fine working order:

 

I am nice and toasty warm, are you? Or is that a hot topic these days?

 

Why “mental health care” and the arts conflict

Art students are praised for originality. Mental patients are praised for uniformity.

Art students are praised for taking risks. Mental patients are told that risk-taking is a disease.

Artists are praised for hard work and discipline. Mental patients are told that working hard and excelling is workaholism.

Musicians and dancers are encouraged to practice. Mental patients are told that repetition is obsessive-compulsive.

Actors work hard to learn to perform fearlessly. If a mental patient does this, it’s called “delusions of grandeur.”

Most artists, when inspired, work harder. Mental patients are told that inspiration is “mania.”

Artists love deeply. Mental patients are told they are incapable of depth of feeling, or that depth of feeling is a disease treatable by Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.

Every artist, musician, and writer knows that art is made by humans and that perfection is not the goal. Mental patients are, on one hand, criticized for perfectionism, and on the other, told they must adhere to their treatment plans 100%.

In art, process, structure, and content are one. In MH “care,” most patients are told they are incapable of processing anything. We are told we need to blindly adhere to someone else’s idea of “structure” since otherwise, we will fall apart. We are fed content that someone else decided for us, some highly paid “expert.” All thought outside the realm of that content is censored.

Artists convey a message. Mental patients who do that are condemned for “interfering with the treatment plans of others.”

Every work of art has a beginning, middle, and end. Mental slavery, by diagnostic definition, is forever, and will never be cured.

The artist puts his brush down. The writer rests her pen. Mental slavery is continuous, since diagnosis is said to be ever-present.

The study of the arts means learning new things and discovering who you are. Mental health “care” means they obliterate who you are. You do not experience self-discovery. You only learn just how little they expect of you.

Dump the shrinks. Make art. And love.

The surprising beauty of instability

We have been taught the myth that a person should be “stable.” Why?

I have heard this word “stable” applied to a political atmosphere, the economy, and “the market.” I have heard this term applied to various sports and athletic activities. I have also heard this applied to our “mental state.” How often have we heard, “Stay away from him, he’s UNSTABLE!” This is meant to sound scary, right? There’s the myth, right there.

What’s wrong with “unstable”? It’s a word, that’s all. How can stability be a definite yes or no as applied to something so nebulous as “mental state”?

You are married or you are not. You are dead or you are alive. I am five foot one, or, rather 155 centimeters tall. As for my mental state, if you don’t like my response, wait five minutes.

Yes, I know, that’s the exact same joke they say in New England, USA regarding the weather. If you are in New England and at a loss for what to talk about, anything regarding weather is bound to be a relatively safe topic. The reason the weather makes for okay conversation is that we aren’t lacking in our amusement over it, are we? This is due to its changing nature. If the weather was always the same, we wouldn’t be yapping about it all the time.

We humans are and should be in flux. We change. If we are not in flux, we are not getting anywhere. You won’t have any motivation nor passion in your life if everything was stable. You wouldn’t ever go outside your comfort sphere. Growth, learning, and maturation stop. We become apathetic, lazy, passive, and bored.

So next time your shrink says, “If you do that, you’ll become unstable!” Be aware that this doesn’t have to be a scare tactic, even though it’s intended as one. We want MORE instability in our lives, not less.

We even want turmoil. Through turmoil, we grow. There are times when we feel there’s too much conflict, and we are overwhelmed. These times serve an incredible purpose, a chance to grow and make strides. Turmoil challenges us. Take that challenge right now! No race is ever won that wasn’t run.

Sadly, the MH System will do everything it can to stop growth by forcing us into a compliant, passive, receiver state. Learn to recognize this and resist compliance. Take a risk.  Go against some other person’s recommendation. That person is not you.  The “expert” on you is you and you alone. Follow your own instincts, your own dreams, and your own passions.