RUDIMENTS, pt. 198
(Making Cars)
Pratfalls, tricks and gimmicks;
that's about all I ever saw. Nothing
matching good sense ever came
my way. One time, my friend and
I were playing around on the flat
roof of the shed my father had built
in the yard - one of the first things
he did. It was, maybe, 5 feet high
at the rear, which was higher than
the front, for some reason. It was
cool for little kids, but for an adult,
I don't know what my father was
thinking. Anyway, Aleck fell off
the roof. No big deal, clonked
his head, but who could tell with
that character. Misgivings and
foibles. At the rear, outside, behind
the shed, that area my father had
piled with scrap lumber. He was
a great collector of used boards.
They were noisy, as you walked
upon them, because they'd flap
around and slap onto each other,
and make that noise. It was fun
though, I admit, getting onto it
all - different cuts of lumber,
the occasional nail or screw.
Inside the shed were garden
things, the lawnmower, rakes,
and an interesting 'maul' or
sledgehammer - long handled
and pretty heavy at the end.
My sister and I kept our
bicycles in there too, and
in the Winter we'd measure
snowfall against the doors,
or the opening of the doors
- two in the front, opening out.
Later on, I painted a strike zone
on them and used to endlessly
blast 'Spaldeen' fastballs against
it and have these imaginary
counts and ball games going
in my head too; but other than
that it was fairly useless -
green painted doors, and a
hasp-latch with a lock. Years
later he tore it down and built
a higher and more traditional
one, at the very rear of the yard.
Same kind of thing, but about
10 or 12 feet high, with shelves
and all built into the walls. I
always did miss the old one
though, and it often came back
to me when I'd catch myself
seeing other things that reminded
me of it - those funky, grey asbestos
shingles that he had covered it with
were really gross and crummy, and
when I got to Pennsylvania, years
later, I saw it as some sort of cheesy
siding that many of the houses had
taken up. There was also a
fake-brick-look red version of
the same; might have been even
worse looking. In Pennsylvania's
highlands, if you wanted to know
where poverty lived, you had two
quick choices : trailers in the woods,
and/or houses with asbestos siding.
Usually ramshackle, 70 years old
then, sometimes slanting, and
sometimes with sections of really
weak or rotted wood too.
-
At this little shed my father first
built, he'd also built a doghouse -
a good-sized doghouse. I don't cry
much, or get teary too much either,
but when I think back now over
that doghouse, I could wail. I don't
know how different things were
or could have been in 1955 but
we had a succession of two dogs
that I remember - 'Jet', who was
jet-black; and 'Rinny', who had
been named after Rin-Tin-Tn,
some TV dog or something.
Anyway, these poor dogs had
one life - and that one life
revolved around, or was
circumscribed by, the
doghouse and the 6 or 8
foot chained connected to
their collar, which circle was
the only run and exercise
they ever got. The grass
and the ground was worn
out from their pacing in place
and that circumference was
their whole world. I can't
ever recall either of them
inside the house, or even
being taken for walks. I don't
remember who fed them; I
guess my parents did; cared
for them; helped them; or
doted on them. I can remember,
maybe about 1957, when a
dog food named 'Gravy Train'
came out, feeding them that
- you'd pour water, (I forget,
hot or cold) over the dry food
and it would make its own
gravy, dog-version, from some
coating which had been put
on the dry food. The dogs
liked it, but it wasn't their
regular fare. I remember
the dogs well, but never
remember tending to them.
-
It's all enough to drive me
crazy now - that had to be a
typical American torture for the
poor dogs, 1950's Avenel version
anyway. I could beat myself over
it, and I don't remember what
happened to either of those dogs.
Not the one or the other. The time
that had elapsed for me, in the
hospital and all that, maybe that
would cover the time period for
one of them, but not both. My
personality has always been a
broth of this bubbling sadness
that splashes over one thing or
another - and this dog and shed
episode surely tops the list. I
could go on, because I've other
dog dog episodes too, on my
farm-days recollections, but I
won't. Let me just say that I
sometimes fear for my life
just thinking about my
karmic infractions, unwittingly
or not, in reference to dogs.
If I have to repay any of that,
I'll be in a deep fix when I
hit the wild blue yonder.
No Gravy Train for me.
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