They’re leaving and I’m winding down. It begins at 3:30 and by 5 or 5:30 there’s no-one but the external contractors around, all waiting to ride the tails of bloated traffic lines. When I wind down, I compartmentalize what I should have completed today, much in the way you’d chuck the things lying about your room into a closet when you hear visitors will be around later (you never know, but there will always be some excuse for them to visit the bedroom or the room with the computer).
The tale of the swimsuited ones was very enjoyable, and I think I read it after my Saturday at the beach, which is quite coincidental in a small way. It helped me recognize the trio led by Queenie. I must type up the notes from my black book some day this week, so you can see what I was up to on Saturday at Good Harbor. My tale is of not much consequence at all. But Updike’s tale left me holding a bucket load of empathy for the boy. I have read many stories of protagonists’ effing the bosses and quitting, although for the life of me, I cannot remember an occasion where I quit a job with such style; I must admit, it is one thing I would like to do before I die.
The period of the story feels good too, Tommy D_____, doesn’t it? There is simplicity about it. Although I have to be careful not to go all longing about a bygone period, for Shrinks would probably point out that is one road to Hotel Desperation. Had she been born in 1990 or so, Queenie might be suing the manager who was so daring to chastise her this past weekend. There was a case recently where a young one went to a prom with a dress that caused her to get turfed out of the ball. Of course everyone wanted pictures to that story, and there she was, the dress but a chiffon scarf that wrapped her neck, hardly secreted her whahoohas, and was tied at the waist. I wonder was there anyone brave enough to eff the Prom Police that kicked her out. My guess there was probably a line. And later the legal papers.
But we are too choc full of information these days for us to be able to make sense out of anything, a restaurant with one fucking almighty menu and tomes of choices. Nowadays everyone’s a singer, a guitarist, a writer, a photographer, a movie maker, and me included. Great that everyone has a fair whip at it, but in the resulting flat hierarchy, there is no real sense of where to find something that will make your stomach warm, or your toes curl. When I was 15, there were musicians that actually frightened me, and I loved them for that. They were really pushing it. Now it seems that sensitivity and bedwetting is lauded as the new rock and roll.
But I am drifting, and it is already 6:13pm and I should be walking if I am to make it to North Station for one of the next trains. I’ll have a read and a look and see what happening. Updike, by the looks of it, is worth reading. Thanks for the lift sir, I really enjoyed it. That say I.
Hi Paul, it's always good to hear from you. I've added a little more for your reading pleasure. A few excerpts from my good friend, Gilbert Sorrentino. I say good friend, but in all reality I've never actually met the man, and I can't say I'm anxious to meet him now, but there was a time when he was tops on my list. I hope you get my drift.
Your Good Friend, Tommy D_____
PS; Sorrentino never tried to make sense of it all, he just told it the way it is, the was it was, and perhaps the way it will always be. After all, what is life but one big fucking continous story. Life goes on and on, with or without us, the story never ends.
T.D.
"But we are too choc full of information these days for us to be able to make sense out of anything, a restaurant with one fucking almighty menu and tomes of choices. Nowadays everyone’s a singer, a guitarist, a writer, a photographer, a movie maker, and me included. Great that everyone has a fair whip at it, but in the resulting flat hierarchy, there is no real sense of where to find something that will make your stomach warm, or your toes curl." So you say, Paul. Well, I hope Gilbert Sorentino cranks your shaft, cause that's what he does for me.
PPS; I think it was Holden Caulfield that said he thought it would be great** if after reading a good book you could call up the author on the telephone and talk to him because he was like a friend or something, yes, I'm sure it was Holden Caulfield that said that. Yeah, Holden got some things right.
**maybe he said 'neat' or somethin similar, I don't remember exactly
Drove the whole way to the train station on Friday morning fearful that I’d miss the train, and when I was arriving I had barely about two minutes to park before it departed, so I fussed as I drove, to fish out the two bucks from cluttered pockets to have it ready to pay the parking attendant, keeping my eye on the last few hundred yards of my drive. Dangled the dollars out the window too as I neared his gate. The parking attendant’s hand moved forward to take my money, said, “Good morning, Sir,” like he always does. Just when the tips of his fingers were about to touch the bills, I pulled the bills away and he smiled, thinking it was just a corny joke played by a corporate sort trying to build some buddy-buddy rapport with the guy who does the menial jobs. But for some reason, something had entered my mind with piercing clarity, and in milliseconds, I had weighed up the situation and made a decision, said “Can’t park now,” turned and went home. The resolution to my predicament was easy: I needed my cell phone. In my rush, I left it on the dresser, and all the numbers I needed for morning calls were stored in the cell. It’s a terrible feeling that such a small insignificance can make the stomach choke with the intensity of bereavement, like the world has it in for me, but as I turned, I felt that doom settle on me. On the way back to pick up the forgotten phone, it occurred to me that in reality, the world has it in for me, but I am not so special, for its out to get most folk. The difficult part is to get up after you take the pounding and get on with raising the family and working and whathaveyou. To stop for any moment and think about life is to recognize its absurdity. That's why we work. Cannot imagine what it's like to retire, well actually I can a bit, since I remember what it was like when I was home during my recuperation after surgery. Had several of the things you would expect with the pensioner blues, like failing body parts and a feeling of absence, and too much time to wonder what its all about. It has it's benefits though, being out of the ridiculous corporate world. Do you enjoy it Tommy D______, the retired life? Aparrently as one gets older the sense of happiness increases. Life is a large parabola with the years between 40 and 45 being the height of anxiety. The mid-life crisis. Or so they say.
I don't know why your son decided to take the path he did, but I suspect I can imagine a few reasons why I would take that road less travelled too. It's hard out there. With my stepsons, my ambition is that they are happy. A lofty one, I know, for its difficult goal to achieve. If they are successful while looking for happiness then all the better. Your son is your boy. Your sons are your boys. Family. I lost my daughter, my life, my aspiration (what a horrible word): Natalaya (the poor mite). Three years ago. She was spared the complexities of this life. Think about her almost every day, and what she would be up to if she was around. Would she be getting into trouble, or giving me grief? I wouldn't mind. But things will be fine sir, very fine. Good thing you did by your grandsons. They'll fight, of course, and it will serve them right. But they'll get on with it.
I enjoyed the pieces here from GS. Thanks for typing them up and sharing.
Thought I’d stop in to se how you are Tommy, and to tell you about my purchase today. I bought two albums. One is a gift to a friend who is building up a collection of music to play to her new baby who will be born in November. I expect the idea might be to get Mozart or something like that, and I suspect she will get plenty of that stuff, many cover versions and all. But I decided to buy her Pet Sounds, the original mono recording. I noticed Neon Bible on offer and on vinyl too, so I had to have it. I’ve been playing it on my turntable all morning and reading the lyrics on the sleeve notes. Marvelous stuff. It was kind of odd to buy The Beach Boys on CD and The Arcade Fire on vinyl.
Hi Paul, it’s always nice to hear from you, but I feel like I’m often put on the spot. Your comments and blog posts are always intelligent, witty, or smart (I think those are synonyms, but they often stand apart) and require of me that I reciprocate. As best I can, of course, given the limitations that I face. So it is often that I say NOTHING, rather than throw something your way.
The car is running great, now that a few things, to the tune of $900, have been replaced. Some front-end work and the power steering hose had to be replaced. I say hose, but the fucking thing is actually a contraption made of rubber and steel tubing and clamps and it retails for $260, with 3 hours labour at the going rate – of course. I don’t know what you pay your mechanics down there, but up here it ranges from $65 to $95 per hour. My mechanic, Dominic, is $75, or, if my son does the labour, it’s free. My son, Shane, did the front-end work, but wouldn’t do the power steering hose, because he said, and I quote, “It’s a fucking bitch of a job. Give it to Dominic!"
Dominic has patience and this was a tedious job that required patience, and I thought, yeah, better to pay Dominic than to replace the front window of the car if a wrench should be thrown by my son in that direction! It’s been known to happen.
The Arcade Fire are interesting to say the least. I hope they don’t go too far adrift during their next adventure. I hope they remain somewhat commercial in their approach but venture into new territory, but territory that has a beat. They are probably capable of going into Frank Zappa territory, but I hope they don’t. I’d like to see them remain accessible to, not mainstream listeners of course, but to those of us on the fringes. They are a large band with numerous instruments to draw on and plenty of room for power chords. They can also do, small, quiet, intimate stuff, but I don’t want them to dwell on it. Got mix it with the boom-boom-bah!
You asked me earlier about my thoughts on retirement and I’ll go into some detail later, but suffice to say, I think it is great. There was a time when I would get anxious if I were away from the job for more than a few days. I wanted to get back into action. I wanted to be at the centre of the fray. I wanted to get my mojo working again in the hoodoo known as “the office!” Then as a few years went by, I found that I could hardly wait for “vacations” to roll around. Long weekends – yea! – then off for a few days with the common cold – why not? – I’m entitled. And then, during the final few years of one’s career, if I may use that term, you realize that your work is a fucking chore with bullshit galore! And that is when you know it’s time to leave the workforce and take one long vacation. I don’t have money to actually “vacation” as it were, you know, visit France or New York or Walter’s Disney World but then again I wouldn’t visit if you could transport me there, unless you could send me on a cloud in a warm summer’s breeze and even then I would have to give it serious thought. I don’t like to travel. Some do – good for them. I have no problem waving to them, those on their way to a fabulous vacation. I’ll see y’all when you get back. Bring me a sombrero, or something. To imagine myself running to a fro from airport to hotel and mixing with the locals – LOL – and eating God knows what, and drinking the local beverage, and inhaling the local air and the various smells that comes with it, well, I just can’t imagine. I like sleeping in my own bed where the feel of the texture and the aroma is most comforting.
I cannot imagine myself ever working again for pay. It has no allure for me whatsoever. I took my watch off five years ago and I haven’t worn it since. This is not to say that I don’t know what time it is, of course I do, clocks are everywhere it seems. As for what day it is, well, I often have to be reminded. Monday morning is just another morning for me. Nothing special. And yet it is. It is the beginning of another cycle, but the cycle illudes to me. Tuesday is Tuesday, what can I say. Wednesday is mid-week. Saturday and Sunday, I hear it’s suppose to rain again. Who cares? I don’t. The sun will be out again on Monday or Tuesday so there!
Retirement, I have found, is a time for serious contemplation, but mostly I find it to be frivolous and fun. The only aspect I don’t like about it Paul, is this, you know you are drawing to a close. You know it doesn’t go on forever, and this makes me sad. I suppose it’s about as close to heaven as I’ll ever get. Oh well, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all – I guess. The world I live in is truly blessed. Amen, and I’ll give thanks to that.
So, as long as this silly world holds together, Paul, and as long as people like you and others do their best and keep things a-running and don’t fuck with my pension plan, all is well. I’m Tommy D_____ and I approve this message.
Take care and remember to give her hell and keep things in good order and shop Wal-Mart or whatever. I’ll see you in a while and we can chat again.
T.D.
PS; Re: the grandsons and the car that they share. There has been a slight glitch in the plans. The older of the two (Steve) leaves for Calgary next week. His flight leaves early next Monday on the twenty-second day of September. He received a job offer from a local contractor to work on a four-month project. Steve wanted to go West – he’s been talking about it for a while – and this offer was right up his alley. He may decide to remain in Alberta and look for work in the oil fields when the project is completed. He’s definitely capable and seems to be made of the right stuff. Both him and his younger brother, Rick, do workouts at the gym 3 or 4 nights a week. They have become quite rugged and strong. If Steve finds what he’s looking for, he’ll stay, otherwise he’ll be back. I will miss him and I have mixed emotions about his success but things often turn out for the best. Maybe Rick and I and my wife and the cats will be heading west in a few years, but I do like it here in Southern Ontario! Come hell or high water, I’ll keep you posted.
PPS; I don’t know what type of music or sounds a baby would most enjoy. I suppose they’re all different. Some might enjoy Mozart, and then again some may not. Some may enjoy the various sounds that animals make or the sound of falling rain on a rooftop or a bubbling brook. To bad we can’t ask them before we jam it down their throat? Here – listen-up! It’s Bon Jovi.
PPPS; I wonder what Neon Bible sounds like when you’re three days old? I think most newborns are drawn to music that has the rhythm of a heartbeat. Something familiar, something they have come to depend upon, something they can trust. Newborns certainly place a lot of trust in their new, bright, surroundings.
Well Tommy D______, these are strange times we live in, or is that what most folk think of their lot no matter what the era? In reply to your long comment above, I am sorry to put you on the spot. That is not the intention and I hope you realize that you do not need to respond. I might pose a hypothetical question here or there, but no response is required if you do not wish to do so. God knows there are plenty of other more pressing things to be at rather than. Saying NOTHING is perfectly fine, and somehow in my mind that underscores the Tommy D______ character, and that is not a derogatory observation.
I’m not much good with cars, but I will get something fixed if I suspect it will be the end of the car as I know it. Oh I let the inspection sticker expire by a few months and such procrastination, but I never let the thing run with and engine light showing. I try to be handy but I usually cannot be bothered, although my stepsons have been known to change shocks and whathaveyou. I was never taught, as some are, the ins and outs of an engine. I think that is a particular gift from certain fathers to sons. I fished with the old man, and he told me a few things I still quote.
M is still in Russia and returns towards the end of the month. I thank you for you well wishes, and I expect there will be tales to tell. There were a few details that I wanted expanded so she went to that city near the White Sea with specific research tasks from me, purely from the story of her life point of view and with no sinister western espionage motives. It is a very interesting tale, as I am sure you will understand when I tell you that she will meet her 40-something year-old brother for the first time since he was a 20-something. People change completely in that span of time and anyone of the street, quick-briefed in a manner not unlike a certain Alaskan governor, might pass muster as long as they a void direct responses to specific questions. So I have the home to myself, and the idea to cook a large Lasagna to do me through the end of a week alone was overestimated; I am about sick of the thing, and I haven’t even reached the mid-point of the gargantuan gastronomy. It’s not even something I can disguise in a sandwich, so I had to invite the youngest son over to entice him to help. He hasn’t accepted yet. Every day is leftovers. This much of something is about to put me off it for life. I wonder did old Paul Newman ever eat another boiled egg after Luke did for them in such a big way back in that movie. Still shaking it, Boss.
Well I hope no one is fucking with your pension plan and you are still enjoying frivolity and fun in retirement. It is a pivotal point in the world and I hope that the ones that have effed it up don’t lay it too hard on those that are easily exploited. God knows they have done enough already. People who have worked all their lives deserve to be left alone to enjoy some serious R&R.
This silly world will hold together, and without wanting to go all political, I hope for the sake of the country that adopted me, it makes a choice this autumn, and puts someone in the Whitehouse that can reestablish it as something worthy of respect. There are some in this country that don’t care for that, and prefer to punch first. I believe there is a choice to turn things around. Let’s hope so.
But enough of that. I have a bagel here with egg and cheese that needs attention. Breakfast for lunch, but after a glut of Italian at home, I’m mad keen for it. My best wishes to you, as usual, and of course, I hope you have a happy birthday.
6 comments:
They’re leaving and I’m winding down. It begins at 3:30 and by 5 or 5:30 there’s no-one but the external contractors around, all waiting to ride the tails of bloated traffic lines. When I wind down, I compartmentalize what I should have completed today, much in the way you’d chuck the things lying about your room into a closet when you hear visitors will be around later (you never know, but there will always be some excuse for them to visit the bedroom or the room with the computer).
The tale of the swimsuited ones was very enjoyable, and I think I read it after my Saturday at the beach, which is quite coincidental in a small way. It helped me recognize the trio led by Queenie. I must type up the notes from my black book some day this week, so you can see what I was up to on Saturday at Good Harbor. My tale is of not much consequence at all. But Updike’s tale left me holding a bucket load of empathy for the boy. I have read many stories of protagonists’ effing the bosses and quitting, although for the life of me, I cannot remember an occasion where I quit a job with such style; I must admit, it is one thing I would like to do before I die.
The period of the story feels good too, Tommy D_____, doesn’t it? There is simplicity about it. Although I have to be careful not to go all longing about a bygone period, for Shrinks would probably point out that is one road to Hotel Desperation. Had she been born in 1990 or so, Queenie might be suing the manager who was so daring to chastise her this past weekend. There was a case recently where a young one went to a prom with a dress that caused her to get turfed out of the ball. Of course everyone wanted pictures to that story, and there she was, the dress but a chiffon scarf that wrapped her neck, hardly secreted her whahoohas, and was tied at the waist. I wonder was there anyone brave enough to eff the Prom Police that kicked her out. My guess there was probably a line. And later the legal papers.
But we are too choc full of information these days for us to be able to make sense out of anything, a restaurant with one fucking almighty menu and tomes of choices. Nowadays everyone’s a singer, a guitarist, a writer, a photographer, a movie maker, and me included. Great that everyone has a fair whip at it, but in the resulting flat hierarchy, there is no real sense of where to find something that will make your stomach warm, or your toes curl. When I was 15, there were musicians that actually frightened me, and I loved them for that. They were really pushing it. Now it seems that sensitivity and bedwetting is lauded as the new rock and roll.
But I am drifting, and it is already 6:13pm and I should be walking if I am to make it to North Station for one of the next trains. I’ll have a read and a look and see what happening. Updike, by the looks of it, is worth reading. Thanks for the lift sir, I really enjoyed it. That say I.
Be lucky Tommy D______,
Paul.
P.S. Indeed she was. Sleek that is.
Hi Paul, it's always good to hear from you. I've added a little more for your reading pleasure. A few excerpts from my good friend, Gilbert Sorrentino. I say good friend, but in all reality I've never actually met the man, and I can't say I'm anxious to meet him now, but there was a time when he was tops on my list. I hope you get my drift.
Your Good Friend,
Tommy D_____
PS; Sorrentino never tried to make sense of it all, he just told it the way it is, the was it was, and perhaps the way it will always be. After all, what is life but one big fucking continous story. Life goes on and on, with or without us, the story never ends.
T.D.
"But we are too choc full of information these days for us to be able to make sense out of anything, a restaurant with one fucking almighty menu and tomes of choices. Nowadays everyone’s a singer, a guitarist, a writer, a photographer, a movie maker, and me included. Great that everyone has a fair whip at it, but in the resulting flat hierarchy, there is no real sense of where to find something that will make your stomach warm, or your toes curl." So you say, Paul. Well, I hope Gilbert Sorentino cranks your shaft, cause that's what he does for me.
PPS; I think it was Holden Caulfield that said he thought it would be great** if after reading a good book you could call up the author on the telephone and talk to him because he was like a friend or something, yes, I'm sure it was Holden Caulfield that said that. Yeah, Holden got some things right.
**maybe he said 'neat' or somethin similar, I don't remember exactly
Drove the whole way to the train station on Friday morning fearful that I’d miss the train, and when I was arriving I had barely about two minutes to park before it departed, so I fussed as I drove, to fish out the two bucks from cluttered pockets to have it ready to pay the parking attendant, keeping my eye on the last few hundred yards of my drive. Dangled the dollars out the window too as I neared his gate. The parking attendant’s hand moved forward to take my money, said, “Good morning, Sir,” like he always does. Just when the tips of his fingers were about to touch the bills, I pulled the bills away and he smiled, thinking it was just a corny joke played by a corporate sort trying to build some buddy-buddy rapport with the guy who does the menial jobs. But for some reason, something had entered my mind with piercing clarity, and in milliseconds, I had weighed up the situation and made a decision, said “Can’t park now,” turned and went home. The resolution to my predicament was easy: I needed my cell phone. In my rush, I left it on the dresser, and all the numbers I needed for morning calls were stored in the cell. It’s a terrible feeling that such a small insignificance can make the stomach choke with the intensity of bereavement, like the world has it in for me, but as I turned, I felt that doom settle on me. On the way back to pick up the forgotten phone, it occurred to me that in reality, the world has it in for me, but I am not so special, for its out to get most folk. The difficult part is to get up after you take the pounding and get on with raising the family and working and whathaveyou. To stop for any moment and think about life is to recognize its absurdity. That's why we work. Cannot imagine what it's like to retire, well actually I can a bit, since I remember what it was like when I was home during my recuperation after surgery. Had several of the things you would expect with the pensioner blues, like failing body parts and a feeling of absence, and too much time to wonder what its all about. It has it's benefits though, being out of the ridiculous corporate world. Do you enjoy it Tommy D______, the retired life? Aparrently as one gets older the sense of happiness increases. Life is a large parabola with the years between 40 and 45 being the height of anxiety. The mid-life crisis. Or so they say.
I don't know why your son decided to take the path he did, but I suspect I can imagine a few reasons why I would take that road less travelled too. It's hard out there. With my stepsons, my ambition is that they are happy. A lofty one, I know, for its difficult goal to achieve. If they are successful while looking for happiness then all the better. Your son is your boy. Your sons are your boys. Family. I lost my daughter, my life, my aspiration (what a horrible word): Natalaya (the poor mite). Three years ago. She was spared the complexities of this life. Think about her almost every day, and what she would be up to if she was around. Would she be getting into trouble, or giving me grief? I wouldn't mind. But things will be fine sir, very fine. Good thing you did by your grandsons. They'll fight, of course, and it will serve them right. But they'll get on with it.
I enjoyed the pieces here from GS. Thanks for typing them up and sharing.
Be lucky, Tommy,
Paul.
Thought I’d stop in to se how you are Tommy, and to tell you about my purchase today. I bought two albums. One is a gift to a friend who is building up a collection of music to play to her new baby who will be born in November. I expect the idea might be to get Mozart or something like that, and I suspect she will get plenty of that stuff, many cover versions and all. But I decided to buy her Pet Sounds, the original mono recording. I noticed Neon Bible on offer and on vinyl too, so I had to have it. I’ve been playing it on my turntable all morning and reading the lyrics on the sleeve notes. Marvelous stuff. It was kind of odd to buy The Beach Boys on CD and The Arcade Fire on vinyl.
Those grandsons of yours keeping the car running?
be well,
P
Hi Paul, it’s always nice to hear from you, but I feel like I’m often put on the spot. Your comments and blog posts are always intelligent, witty, or smart (I think those are synonyms, but they often stand apart) and require of me that I reciprocate. As best I can, of course, given the limitations that I face. So it is often that I say NOTHING, rather than throw something your way.
The car is running great, now that a few things, to the tune of $900, have been replaced. Some front-end work and the power steering hose had to be replaced. I say hose, but the fucking thing is actually a contraption made of rubber and steel tubing and clamps and it retails for $260, with 3 hours labour at the going rate – of course. I don’t know what you pay your mechanics down there, but up here it ranges from $65 to $95 per hour. My mechanic, Dominic, is $75, or, if my son does the labour, it’s free. My son, Shane, did the front-end work, but wouldn’t do the power steering hose, because he said, and I quote, “It’s a fucking bitch of a job. Give it to Dominic!"
Dominic has patience and this was a tedious job that required patience, and I thought, yeah, better to pay Dominic than to replace the front window of the car if a wrench should be thrown by my son in that direction! It’s been known to happen.
The Arcade Fire are interesting to say the least. I hope they don’t go too far adrift during their next adventure. I hope they remain somewhat commercial in their approach but venture into new territory, but territory that has a beat. They are probably capable of going into Frank Zappa territory, but I hope they don’t. I’d like to see them remain accessible to, not mainstream listeners of course, but to those of us on the fringes. They are a large band with numerous instruments to draw on and plenty of room for power chords. They can also do, small, quiet, intimate stuff, but I don’t want them to dwell on it. Got mix it with the boom-boom-bah!
You asked me earlier about my thoughts on retirement and I’ll go into some detail later, but suffice to say, I think it is great. There was a time when I would get anxious if I were away from the job for more than a few days. I wanted to get back into action. I wanted to be at the centre of the fray. I wanted to get my mojo working again in the hoodoo known as “the office!” Then as a few years went by, I found that I could hardly wait for “vacations” to roll around. Long weekends – yea! – then off for a few days with the common cold – why not? – I’m entitled. And then, during the final few years of one’s career, if I may use that term, you realize that your work is a fucking chore with bullshit galore! And that is when you know it’s time to leave the workforce and take one long vacation. I don’t have money to actually “vacation” as it were, you know, visit France or New York or Walter’s Disney World but then again I wouldn’t visit if you could transport me there, unless you could send me on a cloud in a warm summer’s breeze and even then I would have to give it serious thought. I don’t like to travel. Some do – good for them. I have no problem waving to them, those on their way to a fabulous vacation. I’ll see y’all when you get back. Bring me a sombrero, or something. To imagine myself running to a fro from airport to hotel and mixing with the locals – LOL – and eating God knows what, and drinking the local beverage, and inhaling the local air and the various smells that comes with it, well, I just can’t imagine. I like sleeping in my own bed where the feel of the texture and the aroma is most comforting.
I cannot imagine myself ever working again for pay. It has no allure for me whatsoever. I took my watch off five years ago and I haven’t worn it since. This is not to say that I don’t know what time it is, of course I do, clocks are everywhere it seems. As for what day it is, well, I often have to be reminded. Monday morning is just another morning for me. Nothing special. And yet it is. It is the beginning of another cycle, but the cycle illudes to me. Tuesday is Tuesday, what can I say. Wednesday is mid-week. Saturday and Sunday, I hear it’s suppose to rain again. Who cares? I don’t. The sun will be out again on Monday or Tuesday so there!
Retirement, I have found, is a time for serious contemplation, but mostly I find it to be frivolous and fun. The only aspect I don’t like about it Paul, is this, you know you are drawing to a close. You know it doesn’t go on forever, and this makes me sad. I suppose it’s about as close to heaven as I’ll ever get. Oh well, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all – I guess. The world I live in is truly blessed. Amen, and I’ll give thanks to that.
So, as long as this silly world holds together, Paul, and as long as people like you and others do their best and keep things a-running and don’t fuck with my pension plan, all is well. I’m Tommy D_____ and I approve this message.
Take care and remember to give her hell and keep things in good order and shop Wal-Mart or whatever. I’ll see you in a while and we can chat again.
T.D.
PS; Re: the grandsons and the car that they share. There has been a slight glitch in the plans. The older of the two (Steve) leaves for Calgary next week. His flight leaves early next Monday on the twenty-second day of September. He received a job offer from a local contractor to work on a four-month project. Steve wanted to go West – he’s been talking about it for a while – and this offer was right up his alley. He may decide to remain in Alberta and look for work in the oil fields when the project is completed. He’s definitely capable and seems to be made of the right stuff. Both him and his younger brother, Rick, do workouts at the gym 3 or 4 nights a week. They have become quite rugged and strong. If Steve finds what he’s looking for, he’ll stay, otherwise he’ll be back. I will miss him and I have mixed emotions about his success but things often turn out for the best. Maybe Rick and I and my wife and the cats will be heading west in a few years, but I do like it here in Southern Ontario! Come hell or high water, I’ll keep you posted.
PPS; I don’t know what type of music or sounds a baby would most enjoy. I suppose they’re all different. Some might enjoy Mozart, and then again some may not. Some may enjoy the various sounds that animals make or the sound of falling rain on a rooftop or a bubbling brook. To bad we can’t ask them before we jam it down their throat? Here – listen-up! It’s Bon Jovi.
PPPS; I wonder what Neon Bible sounds like when you’re three days old? I think most newborns are drawn to music that has the rhythm of a heartbeat. Something familiar, something they have come to depend upon, something they can trust. Newborns certainly place a lot of trust in their new, bright, surroundings.
Good Night.
Well Tommy D______, these are strange times we live in, or is that what most folk think of their lot no matter what the era? In reply to your long comment above, I am sorry to put you on the spot. That is not the intention and I hope you realize that you do not need to respond. I might pose a hypothetical question here or there, but no response is required if you do not wish to do so. God knows there are plenty of other more pressing things to be at rather than. Saying NOTHING is perfectly fine, and somehow in my mind that underscores the Tommy D______ character, and that is not a derogatory observation.
I’m not much good with cars, but I will get something fixed if I suspect it will be the end of the car as I know it. Oh I let the inspection sticker expire by a few months and such procrastination, but I never let the thing run with and engine light showing. I try to be handy but I usually cannot be bothered, although my stepsons have been known to change shocks and whathaveyou. I was never taught, as some are, the ins and outs of an engine. I think that is a particular gift from certain fathers to sons. I fished with the old man, and he told me a few things I still quote.
M is still in Russia and returns towards the end of the month. I thank you for you well wishes, and I expect there will be tales to tell. There were a few details that I wanted expanded so she went to that city near the White Sea with specific research tasks from me, purely from the story of her life point of view and with no sinister western espionage motives. It is a very interesting tale, as I am sure you will understand when I tell you that she will meet her 40-something year-old brother for the first time since he was a 20-something. People change completely in that span of time and anyone of the street, quick-briefed in a manner not unlike a certain Alaskan governor, might pass muster as long as they a void direct responses to specific questions.
So I have the home to myself, and the idea to cook a large Lasagna to do me through the end of a week alone was overestimated; I am about sick of the thing, and I haven’t even reached the mid-point of the gargantuan gastronomy. It’s not even something I can disguise in a sandwich, so I had to invite the youngest son over to entice him to help. He hasn’t accepted yet. Every day is leftovers. This much of something is about to put me off it for life. I wonder did old Paul Newman ever eat another boiled egg after Luke did for them in such a big way back in that movie. Still shaking it, Boss.
Well I hope no one is fucking with your pension plan and you are still enjoying frivolity and fun in retirement. It is a pivotal point in the world and I hope that the ones that have effed it up don’t lay it too hard on those that are easily exploited. God knows they have done enough already. People who have worked all their lives deserve to be left alone to enjoy some serious R&R.
This silly world will hold together, and without wanting to go all political, I hope for the sake of the country that adopted me, it makes a choice this autumn, and puts someone in the Whitehouse that can reestablish it as something worthy of respect. There are some in this country that don’t care for that, and prefer to punch first. I believe there is a choice to turn things around. Let’s hope so.
But enough of that. I have a bagel here with egg and cheese that needs attention. Breakfast for lunch, but after a glut of Italian at home, I’m mad keen for it. My best wishes to you, as usual, and of course, I hope you have a happy birthday.
Be lucky,
Paul
Post a Comment