RUDIMENTS, pt. 623
(youth, being wasted on the young...)
Since I never got too far
with reality, I found myself
turning to dreams. Or
dreaming about reality -
maybe that puts it better.
Over at Eldridge Park, in
Elmira, (to which I always
referred as Eldridge Cleaver
park, in honor of those black
power militants I so adored),
they had one of those merry-
go-rounds, or carousels, and
this was one with an actual
brass-ring dispenser thing.
It was pretty cool. My kid
was about 6, and he always
rode either on a horse or in
one of those carousel 4-seater
things, and I always stayed
standing - just mainly so
I could reach out and try to
grab the brass ring as we
went around. It was a stretch
some, a contortion, and was
too probably dangerous, by
today's standards (all those
safety-turds would have their
heart-attacks watching unbelted
kids twist and contort while at
circular speed to grab a brass
ring). Well. I did finally get
one! You could either keep it
or turn it in for another ride.
What the heck would I want
another ride for! The ring was
cool enough. It was an overly
large, brass ring, about the
round-size maybe of the
bottom of a shot-glass
(drinking lingo). I liked
mine a lot, almost even
treasured it. I carried it
around in my pocket with
me for many years, talisman
like, and then finally did
misplace it somewhere.
Hopefully it'll turn up before
I die, and maybe with it some
good luck too. (That's short
for 'too late')....
-
We were back to Eldridge Park
about three Summers ago. It's
nothing much now, and damn
if even the carousel's gone. Where
it was is now a dog park - which
was a cool idea to the dog, but
didn't do much for me. The park
looked like it had just fallen away,
but the main lack was of people.
There just weren't any; well,
maybe 10 or 12, older types just
walking around the pond but
staying on the walkway, like old
people do; hoping they won't
just die from the exertion. There's
something about all that elderly
stuff (maybe they should change
the name now, to Elderly Park),
wherein everyone's worried
about everything - branches
and trees overhead, cracks in the
pavements and sidewalks - that
THEY had insisted on having
in the first place. So, everything
ends up getting cut down and
made bare, and new layers of
paving and macadam are
always going down, with more
and more space for parking
and ramps and all that handicapped
crap. It just ends up ruining the
whole scene, tarnation or not,
and it's no wonder people, the
old ones anyway, end up being
so miserable. By the time the
end of their life has come, they've
done so many moves they've
check-mated even themselves.
-
The best thing about that last
visit was that the dog park area
was right next to the equipment
building - a cinder bloc structure
where things were kept stored.
Things in this case meant the
canoes and boats for the Elmira
College water teams - and that
day was painting day. So there
were 8 or 10 Elmira College girls,
in warm, mid-May finery, or lack
of, busily stretching and primping
too as they pained the exterior of
the building. It was all I could do
not to pitch in. Ha? But, it reminded
me anyway of the reaches and
stretches of the old days, on the
carousel, reaching for the brass.
I forget how that goes, but youth
is wasted on the young, or
something like that.
-
So, playing mental cards with
no one but myself, those days
of isolated dreaming and all
my idle thoughts did usually
turn up as something else soon
enough. You've got, in drama,
a Soliloquy; and, in cards,
you have Solitaire. In prison,
I'd suppose, you have Solitary.
No ain't that a wholesome
threesome to put before
the King? I just kept writing
and noticing; and noticing
is what I'd write about.
-
Over in Elmira, about three
spots over from our house,
was an open yard, kept full
with plumbing supplies -
long lengths of plumber's
pipes, couplers, elbows,
joints, etc. All industrial
sized stuff. My son and
one of his friends, a little
toughie named Alan Shaw,
with a cool crimped arm that
was, like, always bent - the
elbow didn't work or something,
so he always looked like he
was holding something. It
was neat. The two of them,
as they did often, got into
that pipe yard one day, except
this day they somehow rousted
a hornet's nest or whatever, and
those whatevers got all over
the two boys and each boy came
screaming away with 10 or 20
good welt-sized stings on their
heads and faces! It was rugged.
At first I figured they were
going to die, the two of them,
from an overdose of venom
into the brain. (Did you ever
wonder if, really, that could
happen?). But, nothing happened,
even for all their pain and
squealing. Sure was memorable
though; quite the Saturday
moment and we never walked
that yard the same again all
that hot Summer.
-
At each end of our street,
Lincoln Street (named for
the President, not the car!),
there were the strangest girls.
One was named Edria, and the
other was Ellen or Edith or
one of these names you don't
much here now. They were
about 10, maybe, and both
had what was called 'broken'
homes. in these cases that
meant no father. They were
kind of lost and aimless, I
always felt, and they'd come
around often and just stare
or intently watch whatever
I'd be doing - some silly
yard work, a fence, or
something in the garage. They
never monkeyed much with
the two boys, their own ages,
but that was the basic reason
too that they hung around. It
was strange. Edria's mother
too would occasionally come
around. She was always
wanting us over - chit chat,
small talk - and she always
offered 'Blue Nun.' I never
even knew what it was, kind
of still don't aand I don't even
think you hear of it anymore,
but in the mid '70's I guess it
was a hot wine to have, like
Mateus and Lancers were.
I always declined, just not
even liking the name, that
'Blue Nun'. It's funny how,
looking back now, even the
weird things like wine and
sparkling rose and all that
came and went with fashion.
The way we lived, I stayed
mostly n the perimeter of all
that - dining and the bars
and local restaurants everyone
always knew about. The only
times, really, we went out
like that was when we had
visitors. Various friends
and parents, they'd come
and they'd like to done out.
There was one place called
'Pierce's 1894.' It was a huge
old house, done over as a
Victorian restaurant - decor
and sittings and big rooms,
and even, at each table, one
of those old style 1900's
telephones, with the earpiece
and the stand up dialer, etc.
I never knew if they were
really connected for use or
not. I used to joke that it
should have been 'Pierce's
1984' - so that when you
picked up the phone for a
message, the thought police
came and dragged you away.
Another time, some friends
were visiting, and we ended
up there, and one guy said,
(because we'd been going all
day), 'I'm getting sleepy.' And
then the other guy said,
'Yeah, I'm getting dopey.'
And, of course, seeing my
in, I piped up, 'I'm
getting Snow White!'
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