11,540. RUDIMENTS, pt. 595

RUDIMENTS, pt. 594

('where do you want these windows? in the door?')

Funny stuff about water :

you've got baptism, the

waters of oblivion, the

bath of purification, the

cleansing effect, and then

of course the power and

the flow of it. I don't know

what it all was about Elmira,

but water seemed intrinsic

to the place  -  maybe in the

same way as the Johnstown

Flood was somehow part

of Johnstown too. (If you

check that out you'll see

they were two different and

totally unconnected things.

In fact, the Johnstown

Flood was caused by rich

people insisting on building

their resort (Henry Clay

Frick, of the NYC 'Frick

Collection' at his NYC 

mansion, there yet today).

They utilized a dam, and

over-stressed, against all

advice, so as to jeopardize 

the town and townsfolk 

below it, which dam broke, 

flooded the town and killed

people. Now, in the American

Dream version of things,

everyone aspires to be rich.

Well, that's what you get).

The situation in Elmira was

greatly different, much more

harmonic and heavenly. There

were, oddly enough, a lot of

things in town which lived of

off and existed because of,

water  -  American LaFrance

made fire engines, Kennedy

Valve Co. made hydrants and

connectors, and other companies

in turn had factories for this or

that function of fire apparatus

or water control. All rather 
strange and quirky.

-

An odd piece of information 

that came my way after living

there, and which I then expanded 

into other conceptual points (a

game of mine that I always did

enjoy) was about hydrants. The

next time you're outside, go

and look at one. They don't

exist. If you really stare at
one, it becomes a nothing.
A 'Fire Hydrant' is just

something we call that 

assemblage. In reality, a fire

hydrant is not anything at all;

it is the end connector of an

underground water-pipe

system. It's just a vertical

end-cap, with connectors for

hoses and a bolt-cap/nut at 

the top for turning the flow

on or off, in the same way

as your backyard faucet 

thing coming out of your 

house allows you to hook

up you hose so as to wash 

your car. Like all (well, 

much of) language, it's 

a convenience; by words, 

to put across something

otherwise a little difficult

to explain or describe.

Neither the word 'Fire' nor

'Hydrant' really does us any

good. But we all know what 

a 'fire hydrant' is. Pretty

strange. Even stranger was

the fact that thousands of 

them were made, yearly, 

in my town, right there, 

at the river, which is water,

and which wrecked the town.

No way to control that flow.

River Hydrant? Not invented

yet; unless you mean a 'dam' 

like the one that was willfully

breached at Johnstown.

-

Ok. Put your seat belts on

while I consider the following:

Language sometimes over-reaches

itself  - I guess because of us 

as the initiators  -  and begins 

floating out, as words, in 

some complex nether-world 

of chance meetings and 

chancier meanings. But

by which meetings and 

meanings,and convergences, 

we construct our worldly 

existences and assumptions. 

Consider 'Big Bang.' And I 

mean really consider it as  -

'The Big Bang.' How it is 

said, by concept, to have 

brought into being our

own 'world' and what we 

then conclude with and

call our 'Reality.' Really?

Think, please. What is 'big'

and what is 'bang' that we

should use those words to

decide we are describing

what we say occurred. 'Big'

simply did not exist before

or at that moment; and still 

it means nothing. (Though

we 'agree' it does). 'Bang'

didn't exist either. What do

we mean by 'bang?' Was 

there a noise of that Nature?

Did it continue? Did that

'noise' suddenly erupt, and

then just as quickly cease?

So we have the barren and

utterly silent NOW universe?

It's much the same as 'fire

hydrant'  -  a descriptive

 convenience of describing

(we hope) 'something.' 

-

What is that something 

however? Redemption?

Are we all in a symbolic 

search, humanistically, to

find a deliverance, a way

of saving ourselves and

getting or finding some

sense from a universe 

seemingly sometimes

senseless? Are we 

abandoned, left to our

own devices, and this

being one of them?

-

There was a period of 

time, in Elmira, when I 

had this little deal going.

It worked out well for me,

cash-in-pocket, no paperwork,

no anything. I somehow 

got involved, by first doing 

one, then a second, and 

then word spread....putting 

storm doors and storm 

windows on people's

houses. The first lady I

did, her house, was a 

woman I worked with,

from West Virginia. She

and her two sons had 

relocated, husbandless,

and they had a little house

out in the sticks. She asked 

me one day if I'd be at all

interested, for 75 bucks

to come out on Saturday

and wire up and install in

place some bathroom vanity

unit she'd purchased. I said

sure, I'll be there. It was a

cinch, a little drilling, some

crews and brackets, simple

wiring for the lights. I was

done, error-free, in about 

2 hours. From that came her

next request  -  a storm door

and a few windows maybe, 

please? Same deal, she bought 

the needed items, I installed.

Agreed-on pricing, paid at

completion, cash. It was cool; 

we became friends. (Funny story

too, about her older son, a basic

dolt. He used to come in on the

weekend as clean-up guy at the

print shop  -  garbage, bathrooms,

all that junk, straightening. One

time he didn't like some mess

I'd left in the darkroom where

I worked the photographs for

printing, and he left me a note

that said, "Please empty your 

own garbage can from now on.

I am not your Niger!" Pretty

unbelievable, even for the '70's.

I left him a note for the next

Saturday, "Neither am I your

river!"  -  the Niger River. from

which we get Nigeria, was my

reference. I don't know if he

ever understood).

-

So it went from her (Jean Truman

was her name) to another and then

another. I did a goodly number of

jobs that Spring and Summer. The

weirdest one, and most remarkable,

was Berenice Martelli. It was just

for two storm doors  - she had a

large house, 8 kids  -  she was as

Irish and red as they come, and I

guess an ex-husband had been

Italian, with the name Martelli.

I never asked, and there never a

man around. She handled all those

kids on her own, ranging from

like 17 maybe to 3, in ages.

Berenice was an out and out

hardcore born-again Christian,

preaching and proselytizing at 

every chance. I never minded;

she was a good-hearted, wonderful

lass, always bright and filled. Her

major title to talk about, always,

was Mere Christianity, by C. S.

Lewis. It was all OK. Sometimes

we bantered, or I played Devil's

advocate while I worked. The

one thing she did, a few days as

I worked there, was insistant on

feeding us. Myself, wife and kid

too. With all her other kids -  it was

a massive, roundabout feedbag,

at a large table, people jabbing

and grabbing, to eat. A quite

memorable mob scene.
-
The food would come out, and the 
moment for prayer would arrive.
Everyone dutifully bowed their head.
Words were said, and the blessings
given. Then everyone would dive in.
Berenice was cute like that. They
were poor, a close-cropped existence  -
I think she was on assistance of some
sort, though she had a small  job too.
The house had million things everywhere:
statuary, trinkets, cups and saucers,
memorial plates, religious things, etc.
It was really something to see  -  by
whatever status they were living I
was able to sense that everything  -  
not just their religious approaches  -  
had an iconic status, one worth the
preserving and the display of. I
recall cow-pourers for milk, and
any of the assorted, half-humorous
items in the kitchen area. She
spoke always in a serious manner,
as if under a real bushel of burdens.
Her car was a very modest miracle,
still running and down on its springs 
yet in full function.There were
lots of miraculous moments  -  like
where would she get the money to
pay me? I went ahead, no matter,
but she did pay up, and I thought,
momentarily, quite, to refuse taking
her money. But, in my own reality,
I had my own cards to deal with,
and I had done the work and made
the task and took the risk. The bet
was that I'd install correctly, not 
break anything along the way, 
and not have to buy or replace
anything I screwed up, out of 
pocket. So, I figured, being paid
only made sense and that was
the deal.
-
There was another house, out in a
town called Sayre  -  two middle-aged
women, living together, in a more
suburban setting, pretty normal.
I did that job too, and they turned
out nice enough  -  all these years
later there's still casual contact,
or there was anyway  -  they're both
probably in their 80's now. Or not.
Anyway, like the 'concept,' like the
fire hydrant, heck, like the 'Big
Bang' itself, this was the small
universe I'd somehow created
from nothing. What had been
there before it, nameless and 
void, I did not know  -  but I 
did it, gave it all a name, and
the rest you just read about.
What was big about anything 
before there was small? (We 
always need opposites to go by).
And what was 'Bang' about
anything before there was
silence? (We always need
opposites to go by)...