RUDIMENTS, pt. 413
(at home on Inman)
There are plenty of fine points,
in the normal course of life, that
can be overlooked and have a
person still get by. Not everything
is as crucial to the next, nor in
the same way. Some things you
just brush off. When we initially
moved to Inman Avenue, right
after the homes themselves were
built, there were only maybe 7
or 8 inhabited houses at first.
People came in, later, as the
moving vans and assemblages
started rolling. It was pretty cool
and raw - the yards were not
yet finished or graded or leveled.
There were, in the immediate
area, for instance, near the rear
of my house and the others near,
large piles of trees, limbs and
trunks too. Mounds of dirt, and
various sorts of construction
rubble too. It eventually did all
get taken down and away, but
for a while it was real fun. I
can't recall what 'season' we
moved there in, but I guess it
was Spring or Summer, because
I remember open air and the
mover guys coming in and out
and sitting around having
sandwiches and such. Warm
and light and airy. It was fun,
for a while, waking up on a
day when a new moving truck
was stumbling down the rough
street, seeing where it stopped,
what car followed, who was
there, who got out, new kids,
how many, etc. It was almost
Tom Sawyerish, or Mayberry.
Soon enough, as it turned out,
there were 20 or 30 kids around,
easy, various ages. The funny
thing now, seen in retrospect,
was that we were the ones by
arriving en masse like that,
who'd soon enough be part of
the problem - screwing up
whatever Mayberry or Tom
Sawyer content there may
have been.
-
Before long, the streets were
teeming : Inman Avenue,
Clark Place, Madison Avenue,
and Monica Court. I always
thought it a motley collection
of names. Soon enough, maybe
a year or two in, one house
burned (Cathy Jones's) and
was rebuilt. That was an
interesting occurrence, but
it all went by swiftly. And
then, the next Spring and
Summer, any number of these
private contractor guys
began covering the block.
Door to door - seeking to
install storm windows and
doors (the houses had none
initially). Many people took
that option, and they were also
selling front door grills, over
the storm glass, with your
family's last name initial on
the grill. They sold big too.
(And they saved a few front
door glass panes from baseball
destruction as well). The one
guy, named Whitey - just that -
he probably did at least half of
our block, that entire Spring
and Summer, working with
his simple ladders and supply
truck, and alone - doing the
storm windows and doors.
They were all, back then, just
a boring metal-gray color, a
bit harsh looking. Not the baked
and powder coated tints and
colors you see today. In addition,
aluminum siding was in its
infancy, and seeing that yet
was rare, though - in a few
years - it too began being
seen. Lawns and shrubs,
hedges and trees, and landscape,
that all was mostly done alone,
by the owners of the house, if
at all. Nothing was much like
today - finances were tight,
the systems of credit and all
were not yet prevalent as they
are now, people were quieter
and more cautious and reserved.
Back to that 'Whitey' guy; he
was just that - his hair was
white, and he was of very
fair complexion. Blue eyes.
And his work clothes were
like just white khakis, of a
jumpsuit sort. He never talked,
and were were told to stay away
and never bother him. Word was
he was a veteran with still some
raw, shell-shock problems, and
not keen on kids or noise either.
That was a first - this place was
a noise bomb at all hours. But
WWII was still fresh, and we
were told he was suffering.
-
Over time, as I said, some trees
and hedges, bushes and things,
were planted. My father was
big on Dogwood trees and
Maple trees. He planted two
on the front lawn in about a
year, one on each side, and
the left one he used to measure
me against - at first we were
about the same height, when I
was 5, but soon the trees surpassed
me and grew high. Long gone.
They lived a long, twisty time
too, but by 1990, they were gone.
The big sycamore on the curb
too. My father had them all
taken down. He'd decided he
disliked the big Sycamore for
its mess, and the bark peelings,
and the birds over the cars. The
two on the lawn, they just grew,
as he put it, wild and straggly.
The Dogwoods and all, they
went in the rear yard, but they
all died off too in about 10 years.
Plus, once the 'pool' thing took
off, trees were considered a
problem for sunlight and shade
and warmth on the water. I
never could keep up with all
that, and just thought all those
people were nuts, worrying over
stuff like that.
-
Then, of course, came the fence,
(my father hand built one all
around the front), and then
came the hedges, all down
the back. They seemed to
grow fast and furious, and I
remember August nights,
out back, how vivid and
loud the cricket noises were.
I'd never been exposed to that
before, and it fascinated me.
Also, for the first few years,
there were still some big, tall
trees around, separating the
property lines, like at our house.
I had an astronomy-for-kids
kind of book and, with it, and
using the enormous oak in the
corner as my guide-post for
reference, I found myself able
to situate the Dippers, various
other stars and constellations. It
felt really special and important
to be able to do that. Almost in
a spiritual sense, homing in one
celestial things from a little
runt-hole place like Avenel
and the train tracks. Then, alas,
I grew, the trees all disappeared,
and the entire deep world began
seeming flat and empty. Devoid.
-
I always figured numbers to be
markers in space. Piano music
worked like that - intervals and
gaps between things was how
one measured the space of Being,
the sounds of harmony and place.
Thus, it was quite startling one
day when I began seeing this
crew of nitwits working the block
to sell stenciled, spray-painted
house numbers on the curb in
front of each house. It seemed the
stupidest idea in the world to me -
limiting, closing up the world,
marking everything. No, not
everyone bought, but those
who did seemed to me to be
the most insecure and weak
of the bunch. Really dumb idea.
-
One thing about normal people -
and this never works - is how
they right away want to 'quantify'
everything. You can tell it right
off, say, in educational system
stuff - it's the first thing they go
doing, without any regard for
the quality of the 'learn' or the
content and verisimilitude of
that which is being taught. It
all gets turned into numbers -
are you at 'Grade Level?' Are
you within some really lame
and prescribed ranking and
sequential system? What they
don't tell you is that none of
that is for YOU, it's for them.
For them as teachers - within
their system, needing to make
ranking and show a positional
progress that can rationalize
their cruddy job of teaching,
which isn't that at all. It's more
an industrialization of the 'role'
of teaching or acting as teacher.
No more than that, sorry. What's
the first thing that happens to a
teacher, once in place (mostly
'she' teachers, but this goes for
guys too). Go ahead, just look at
pictures, however presented. First
thing? They go and start getting
fat. They just quantify. They only
add. They start looking like
add. They start looking like
plugholes or fire hydrants, and
it goes with the territory - as
does the rest - cheap clothing,
bargain-ized features, no more
'deep' ideas of anything, just
rather and instead a horrible
learning component of cheap
assumptions and kiddie-merchant
crap. Can't be denied. One
thing and then another and
another, each of them quickly
then becoming indicative of each
other, and then the whole. The
fact of the matter is we each
become a part of the totality we
we inhabit. For a lot of people,
that's just another way of saying
they get stuck in their own
foul equations. No celestial
references at all.
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