10,823. RUDIMENTS, pt. 316

RUDIMENTS, pt. 316

Making Cars

I had a scare today; and it

had nothing to do with

looking in a mirror. I

was thinking about my

age and  - when I realized

it, seriously realized it  - 

I kind of jumped. Not in

the way of one of the joyful,

Irish-reel jumps either. The

thing that started it all was

I saw this old guy  -  note that

he was decidedly old, and

looked it, whereas I at least

figure I may in other respects

look like crap but I don't really

look 'old' old, in that way of

old people  -  seemingly a little

crushed, bent, struggling to

get along under the burden

of some ache or slow pain.

He was, from a distance, I

saw, wearing a shirt, a tee-

shirt, with lettering that I

took to say 'It Took Me A

Long Time To Get This

Wholesome.' Or, because

of the distance, it may have

said, 'This Handsome.' I

couldn't tell, and in a few

minutes they'd gotten into a

car and were gone. Wholesome

versus Handsome. Hmmm.

I wouldn't know what the

'wholesome' meant anyway  - 

drinks milk? Nice guy?

Always upright and solid?

-

And handsome, that too was

something of another category

which no longer concerned me.

Anyway, I thought the guy was

anything but that  -  not that I'm

the arbiter of that around here.

But, I got to thinking, approaching

70 (and, no, I don't mean on the

speedometer) is not the best of

times. Unfortunately not the worst

of times either, apologies to my

friend Chuck Dickens. I know

it can only get worse from here.

Bleak House, indeed. The guy

who wore that shirt was a stumbling

old guy who certainly looked as if

fun, nor wisdom either, hadn't ever

brightened his day, his waistband,

his pleasure palate or his food/diet.

Nothing but trouble. I wondered

how in holy Hell I'd gotten into

this position, and just as quickly

realized it had little to do with me,

except that it was me who had

opted to survive  -  remain, claw,

fight back, keep breathing. Stay.

-

If anyone had told me when I was

11 that in 57 years I'd still feel

the same but be 68, soon going

on past that, I would have surely 

bet them that Yogi Berra would

not spill his Yoo-Hoo, and I would

have won. There's no telling for

how any of this happened, but the

continuum of it all is that it's been

happening to everyone, not just me

Because of that, with whatever

variation you wish to give it, we 

all face the same dire sport. Top 

of the ninth, no men on, and 

we're down by 4. You'll note

that the last two items were 

baseball analogies, going with

the season currently here. And

if, by course of matter, analogy 

is the wrong word, then try 

metaphor, and if that's wrong, 

use 'reference.' I know it's not

'simile' because there's been no

like or as, but it's just as likely

it's one of them (I hid a wordplay 

in there for you just now, too).

-

I'm overplaying this. A 'real' scare

would have been a heart attack or

a tremor, at 70 while doing 70 in

a car barreling down the highway.

Then I would have known I was

old, and no refuting it. As much

as I'd like (more word-play!).

-

Back to the subject, you old jerk.

-

The right spot here, and the thing

that makes it bearable  -  from my

little kid Avenel perspective anyway,

is that I can now, at peace of a sort,

separate everything and then

compartmentalize all the little

pieces of this life-past lived. I end

up not owing anybody anything

except my real truth, my real, solid

opinions about things and about 

what's done. Every little idea of

'what might be' when I was a kid,

has now either come to some lame

fruition (failure) on my part, or 

been dis-proved as either unworkable 

or not correct  -  proved through

expierence to be false. And that

includes, schooling, manners, 

beliefs, structures, and niceties.

The only thing I can do now is

volunteer  -  for and to others  -

my own real truth as found. It's

a last-ditch way of aiding, and 

abetting  -  and it's taken my

entire life to do it. I used to

look up at the starry night-sky

from the top of my driveway

back there, at 116 Inman, and

every time I'd be able to locate

and pick out all those same stars

and constellations way up above

(it's not even really 'above,' funny

enough, and it took me 55 years

to learn and get to the bottom of

all that), me. Or what we called

'above  -  more a constantly 

changing reference point of 

really nothing at all. What does

a dumb, young, kid know anyway,

right? And then it all disappeared,

all went away  - in the flash of an 

instant, it seemed, though it did

involve time. Left with nothing,

I faced another world, alone,

entirely. Aging. Without a father,

and a mother, without many friends

and relatives who'd also gone.

To where? To that sky of old?

In a minute it was all nothing.

-

I looked at that old guy today; he, like

a fool wearing a tee-shirt that truly

made him appear as a retard, and

realized that at this stage life can

be nothing much more than a

summation. Gather it all up. And

get it all together. A Summoning

too : A person must somehow 

summon all that they have ever

been, ever thought, and ever come

through, and make it work, NOW, 

as a product, and a last-ditch effort

at surviving. When all those

sages and monks and Buddhists 

and others say 'Life is an illusion.

Reality is an illusion,' they DON'T

mean it doesn't exist  -  that's just

a silly person's over-reaction to

something they don't really 

want to hear about, so they then

exaggerate it so they can scoff. 

What is meant by saying 'Reality

is an illusion' is that, much more

simply, things are NOT what

they seem. Everything is in a

constant state of change : a tree

seems to be solid, but it's not.

Cut it down and burn it, it 

becomes energy in the form

of heat; turn it into paper, and

it becomes a book; bury the book

in the ground, it returns to the

soil that nourishes a tree. If it's

the right book, it reaches a mind

and changes a world. On and on

it goes  -  as tree, fire, heat, paper, 

book, soil  -  or the wooden table

you do your work upon. All things

are merely incarnations over the

course of time. And what is that,

after all, this 'Time' we speak of?

Just more illusion. Hopefully

wholesome. So, hey, maybe it

did take that guy a long time to

get that wholesome, after all!
-
I brushed my dog, Springtime
shedding, white dog  hair all
around. As we sat there musing,
within ten minutes, sparrows
had come down, 5 or 6. They went
right to work, and I mean busily,
each of them stuffing their little
sparrow beaks with with dog hair,
as each flew off, and then returned.
In a short while it was mostly
all gone : my dog, in part, now
returned to nature too, was
becoming, as transformed,
a series of bird nests. I guess
things never really are what
they seem, and ain't that a
wholesome fact! (Took me
a while, but I caught on)...