11,961. RUDIMENTS, pt. 767

RUDIMENTS, pt. 767

(scratch that, hazards abound)

Not a thing about this was

like around here now. People

live totally differently, now;

all characteristics changed.

Take matches, for example.

First off, no one uses them

anymore, probably because

nowadays most everyone

does NOT smoke  -  whereas

back then most everyone did. 

The big thing now is the same

dependency but done now by

idiots sucking on a watered

vapor and blowing out steam.

And calling it the same. Candy

flavored bubble-gum same.

Everybody's infantile now.

Have you been to a family

wedding lately? The goons

play it to the hilt. Kid, get

serious, you're freaking being

married for God-damn sake.

They come rolling out now, the

wedding party, two by two or

one by one with their stupid

play routine, everything as if

they were children on 'Zoom.'

Plus the freakheads expect you

to enjoin and enjoy this idiocy.

With complete background

noise the entire time so that you

can't hear yourself talk let

alone think  -  people sitting

there grinning at themselves

for lack of anything better

to do. Go home, I say.

-

Pennsylvania? That farmhouse

scene was pretty great and kept

getting greater. I'd go up into

that third floor vast attic, just

to smell how cool it was, the

scent. A heavy-for-sure welt

of Maple. As fresh as if it was

brand new, except it was 70 years

old. Toughest smell in the world.

I used to love it. I don't know how

I passed up on all this, but I must

have been either crazy or beleaguered,

like beleaguered caviar! I guess it

was that whole wife and kid thing;

that always knocks a man down.

Turns life into a grind, more than

it should ever really be  -  unless 

a person enjoys it. I never much

did. In this case, it drove me

back out, after a good 7 or 8

years. Too bad. I never knew

what I had. (I threw it all away).

-

It's a song - 'Once I had mountains

in the palm of my hand / rivers I ran

through every day. I must have been

mad. I never knew what I had. Until

I threw it all away. I threw it all

away.' Something like that.

-

I don't bedevil bad tidings, nor

do I polish doorknobs. This time

spent here isn't like that, not about

that at all. Sometimes I'd sit around

and grumble, 'Nothing here to eat,

'cept these damned crackers.' Out

back, I had plenty of things to

do, but I attacked everything in

the slowest manner possible, as I

realized right off I wasn't 'about'

work, thank you. Let someone else

do all that crap. I have a higher 

calling. Way out behind the house,

over at the entry portico by the

big barn, there were some 4 or 5

cars, left, and just setting there.

They were useless  -  bad tires,

windshields all cracked. some

of the doors no longer closed

(Or opened, for that matter, or

once opened, wouldn't close 

again). Most of them vintage 

1960 era. There was even a

Corvair; and a Mercury Turnpike

Cruiser. Mostly we used them for

target practice, or putting cans

and bottles on the roofs and 

from the back of the house then

shooting away at everything, to

see what we'd hit. 'Aim' wasn't the

point. Firepower was. Everyone up
there hunted, most any-named 
season you could think of had a 
hunt time, and farmers anyway
could shoot at any varmint they'd
to, saying it was eating their 
crop or messing with their fields.
Out back, behind Warren's barn,
the deer just used to hang out,
staring back, as if to see what was
to be coming their way next. He
hated that, and was always at
the ready to be rid of such
pests and threats...
-

Oh, back to the matches subject.

Up there in those Pennsylvania

hills, most matches sold were in

nice little slide-boxes, and were

called 'Blue-Tip' or somesuch.

They were 'strike anywhere' 

matches  -  mostly because all

these farmers, they'd always be

busy milking cows and rolling

cigarettes one-handed. With

never a spare hand, certainly not

for holding steady a dumb old

matchbook to scratch the match

on so as to ignite. Scratch-anywheres

were wooden shafts'; the farmer

could grab one, and with one hand

swiping, he could scratch it along

most anything  -  floor, cinder-block,

rough-side of a galvanized milk

pail, and it would ignite. I swear

to you I saw it done, and had

done it myself, on pant-zippers

and even on the ends of teeth.

If the 'snap' was done just right,

it would light at the snap-pull

off one's teeth. These same

blue-tip matches, being strike

anywhere, presented two major

hazards. The sorts of things it

really paid to be aware of, and

that rubes without experience, 

like people here now, wouldn't 

know of. First, anyone big on 

themselves and macho enough 

to think about it, would put 5 

or 10 of these matches in their 

pocket. Stupid move, firecracker

man. Jostling and rubbing

against each other would be

apt to start the fire, 'burn the

toolshed' if you know what I

mean. Having a sudden small

fire on your work-jeans pocket

is no fun. And another hazard,

also from experience, was that

hazard created by mice. Of which,

even with 5 cats living in the barn,

(plenty of free milk) and keeping

much of the mice population down,

there were plenty. And which mice,

it had been known, were apt to

run off with a strike anywhere,

wooden matchstick, for gnawing,

and, on the journey through your

barn or house walls, the dragging

match wold self-ignite. Goodbye

House, hello in-the-walls firestater.

I can tell you, hazards abounded.
-
If someone were to look back on my
life now and say 'miserable journey,'
I'd surely have to pipe up and disagree.
You need to remember, as well,
that it wasn't ME going to visit other
people; it was other people always
wanting to come up and visit me. 
See how we were living; what had
become of us; how we'd done that
which we'd done. We put up with it
all, and it was good. I can't ever say
it was pesky; and mostly they had
money too  -  enough liquid cash
that we'd not have to worry about 
that pizza or hamburger everyone 
ended up wanting. Two of my
friends, in fact, came up quite
often, maybe three times a season,
for a weekend  -  we did lots of
things; showed them the ups,
tops, and bottoms of Ithaca, and
Cornell, and Watkins Glen and
Montour Falls too. Went all
 over, mostly on their dime :
midnight forays listening on distant
radio to 'Old Black Water' and
Van Morrison too. Eating at places
I'd never otherwise think of going
into. Every time they'd leave to
go back to Avenel (he was a
mailman there, one of the guys,
and the other worked at Pilot Labs,
on Homestead or one of those swamp
streets), they'd leave a 20-dollar
bill upstairs on the dresser in the 
room they stayed in. Back then that
20 was like 100, and often a lifeline.
I didn't know there was a little
romantic fling going on behind it
all, but later on we worked it all
out and got it straight. Had to.
Otherwise that target practice
stuff could have gotten ugly.