Hot Fun

When Donna and I lived in Virginia Beach we used to take walks along the Bay on the beach. It was pretty laid back in those days; dogs and kids were everywhere. There were some beautiful homes along the beach, but no private sand. All the houses had backyards which were dunes and high grass, then sloped down to the beach. The beach was public property, so for those like us who lived across the street, it was pretty close to having our own beachfront.

I remember a Black Lab who probably lived in one of the waterfront houses who would follow people strolling on the beach, smiling and offering a stick to throw. We found this delightful, such a friendly dog, and would toss the stick for him to fetch until we got bored with the game. When we stopped throwing, the dog would take the stick in his mouth, look at us for a while, then trot off to find another playmate to throw it for him.

Now I have 2Spot, an 11 month old Black Lab. When I wake up in the morning he is delighted and excited, partly because I feed him as soon as I get up, and partly in the hope that I will throw a toy for him to fetch. As soon as my feet are on the floor he brings me something to throw: he's ready for the day to begin. If I was willing, we could play fetch all day, he's that single minded. Easy to see why people train these dogs to hunt. It's all they want to do: bring you things.

Yesterday, finally, Kenny started moving stuff from the office here in the house to his newly completed office in the back of the garage. I had a pile of boxes in the yard, from the new TV and other things, along with a bunch of construction debris from the new office. While Kenny and Julie moved furniture, I piled the trash in the yard into the fire pit and lit it up. It went well in spite of the recent rain, mainly because there was a bunch of tar paper in the pile, which makes excellent kindling, even when wet.

Soon the fire was blazing away, and I nurtured it carefully, putting wet cardboard on the sides and slowly moving it into the center as it dried. As Kenny cleaned out the office he left more and more stuff to go on the fire: audio and video cassettes, a plastic audio cassette cabinet, old vacuum cleaner parts, papers and boxes. The plastic burned long and very hot, allowing me to put practically anything on the fire with the assurance that the burning plastic would dry it out and it would eventually burn.

In the office there was a frame, about 8'x8', made of 2x6 pine and covered with plywood, once destined to become a Murphy bed but never completed. Kenny and I carried that out and put it on the fire as well. At Kenny's suggestion, we took the old Mitsubishi rear-projection TV, which I had rolled into the office when it ceased to work, out the door and onto the fire. The TV was big, about 5' high, 5' wide, and 18" deep.

It went on top of the Murphy bed frame, and when it caught fire burned with an intensity that made us both a little nervous. We hauled out the garden hose and beat the flames down a bit. I hosed off a trailer on the other side of the fence to keep it from combusting; the trailer steamed as I played water on it.

The Mitsubishi, the Murphy bed, some fiberglass insulation, carpet scraps, audio and video cassettes, assorted other household trash, things one would normally not think to burn, were reduced to a pile of smoldering ash. It was Brightwood fun at its best.

Today I put a coat of Kilz primer on the ceiling in the office, which will now become my studio/den. With all that office junk out of there I now see what a nice (and big) room it is, with a great picture window and sliding doors overlooking the creek. The wood stove is in there too, and I look forward to cozy days and nights this winter with a wood fire, wine, and a good Kindle book to read.

As Kenny and I watched the Mitsubishi fire he said he likes to burn just about everything he can get his hands on, and how useless old photos were and that they should be burned. "All the people in them are dead; nobody cares about that shit." At that point it would not have surprised me if he started throwing books on the fire. Just a little more insight into Kenny's personality, or lack thereof.

I was slightly uncomfortable in his presence, not because he intimidates me, as he does some people, but because of a sad feeling of emptiness which seems to surround him. He presents himself as unsentimental, cold and self-serving. I don't think it's an act.

He hates the mountain. He left here when he was old enough and never came back. If it wasn't for his interest in the Tavern he would not come up here at all. It's no wonder few people seem to actually like the guy, even his own brother Ron, who is his polar opposite, a down-to-earth nice guy who likes it here and is a friend to all.

Something to Say

“Keep a quiet heart, sit like a tortoise, walk sprightly like a pigeon and sleep like a dog.” These were the words of advice Li gave to Wu Pei-fu, the warlord, who took Li into his house to learn the secret of extremely long life.

Li maintained that inward calm and peace of mind were the secrets to incredible longevity. His diet after all, was mainly based on rice and wine.

And ice cold vodka.
-Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

Life is caught in the tension between order and chaos. If there is too much order, everything becomes the same and there is no room for creativity or anything new. Everything must fit the one pattern. If there is too much chaos nothing can last long enough to create anything useful; everything is just a jumble that destroys everything before it can get started. Between order and chaos is found the Edge of Chaos, the point where there is enough chaos for novelty and creativity, but also enough order for consistency and patterns to endure. This point is a magic point, where new and unimagined properties can emerge.


“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishing.”
- Anais Nin

Friday, June 12, 2009

A few days ago I had a very disturbing dream, and I want to document it for posterity.

Tuesday afternoon I had read a few pages of “Mind of Clear Light” by the Dalai Lama, in which he says we should be careful not to waste a moment of this precious human life. Also, I have been thinking about the fact that I will be 61 in July, and one year from then I will be eligible to collect Social Security, which I am fairly certailn I will, barring any unforseen windfall of U.S. dollars.

In the dream I was sentenced to 13 months on a work-release program for the crime of having wasted 60 years of Precious Human Life. I did not deny my guilt, I embraced it. My work-release job was to be delivering mail in the city, which appeared to be Leominster, a suburb of a large city. I went out to deliver the mail and was completely lost. Just like my real experience with delivering mail, I felt like I didn’t know where to go, and that I was going to run out of time to complete the route.

A kindly gentleman finally came to me and counselled me as to what I should really be doing for my work release job. I was to be a “medical technician”, something to do with surgical instruments. Donna was there briefly, and dispassionately said I was suited for that kind of work. All the while the crime I had committed, wasting my 60 years of human life, told more and more heavily upon me, and I cried loudly, like a baby with a rash, and woke up crying, fully believing I had, indeed, wasted my life.

Coming Through In Waves

Since my last post in July 2009 I have found employment, almost by accident, as a cook at the Brightwood Tavern. I should have kept a journal of my experiences there, people I have met, the Regulars at the Tavern (I call them "The Usual Suspects."). Someone with a normal imagination, some writing skills, and the energy and will could write a great comic/tragic novel revolving around the Tavern, or at least a pilot for a sitcom.
Someday I will write about it, but for now I am here to write about My Life at this moment.

I have been cooking at the Tavern since mid-July when it finally opened. The job pays minimum wage, but the tips more than make up the shortfall, ranging from $25 to $50 a day, which is substantial. It has allowed me to buy insurance and register my car, buy food, art supplies, clothing, one wedding gift, and a round-trip ticket to Baltimore to attend said wedding, and to finally begin to pay rent for this fine studio in which I live.

As good as this may sound versus poverty and unemployment, over time it has reaffirmed my belief that I was never cut out to work for a living, as generally understood in American society (daily toil for money). My only talent is in the arts, and the only arena in which I feel comfortable is the visual arts. Although I have now been chipping away at becoming an "artist" for the better part of two years, I am just beginning to get a sense of what that really means.

Serendipitously, I am also reaching retirement age in the Social Security sense, and have decided to take that plunge in July, when I will be 62 years old. I will receive from SSA about as much as I now get from Toil at the Tavern, but will have all my time free to pursue my post-retirement career as a visual artist. This feels very much like my last Shot At Redemption. I think this is what I was meant to do to leave something behind besides a legacy of mishandled money and broken hearts.

The other large decision I have made recently is to get a puppy. No shit. A puppy.

I have become friends with a couple at the Tavern whose black Lab bitch pooped out a litter last month. The pups will be ready to go in March and I have committed to taking one. I will meet them this week and pick one out.

I have been thinking about getting a dog for a while, since it's an easy way to get a friend and constant companion, which I need. I was going to adopt an old dog from a shelter but decided a puppy will be better. Hopefully he and I (it will be a male) will bond like I did with ol' Spike so many years ago. Spike was a most unruly dog, mainly because I did everything wrong in raising him, but he loved me a lot and I loved him right back. He was My Dog. I want to do that again, but this time do it right, as far as neutering (Spike was never neutered, probably the main reason he was such a wild man), housebreaking, training, etc. I want the dog to grow old with me, rather than get an old dog that I might outlive. I don't need anymore heartbreak, thank you very much, so safety will be a big concern, and that goes right back to training, and getting a good-tempered pup to begin with. I know I have several years in purgatory coming for what I did to Burt, the sweetest dog I ever met. It's my fault he died so young; I won't ever get over that but maybe I can make it up to the cosmos in some way by getting it right with this puppy. I hope so.

So I feel energized for the time being with what's coming: dog, retirement, post-retirement career. Stand by for future posts here about how this all turns out.
For now, Comfortably Numb, Namaste.