12,712. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,018

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,018

(crazy stir crazy stuff)

Each time I sit down to write

one of these chapters, I think

to myself 'I wonder what my

readers would like to read

now?' Not that I have a bunch;

maybe 20? It's more a conceit

to get me going, push me along.

Everything's got me scared

and crazy now anyway, so I

can pretty much write about

anything and lose control no

matter. Always weird things

throw me. Going back to that

'maybe 20?' comment, that

really sucks, considering all

the work that goes on getting

all this together. But, these

days, there's little else to do

anyway. Lots of life sentences

are running out. Those people

get free'd, and we still mourn.

I wonder how come. Normal

folk don't have to answer that;

only religious zealots. Maybe

that's a whole fan base I should

be working on.

-

The crazies have maybe set in.

See how that line works? When

I approached it, I thought, 'is

that too glib; fanciful, trite?'

But it appealed to me nonetheless,

so I left it. Crazies running into

maybe, like a head onto a pillow.

Like a saddle onto a horse?

Like a carpet over a floor?

Like a new coating on an old

road, sliding right over it. The

cheap way. Without first gouging

and scouring out the old road.

There's a precise name for that

process, which I forget right now.

You see, now let me tell you, when

I was a younger man that never

happened. I had command and I

remembered each word. No more.

I'd forget my name if it weren't

attached to me. I wonder, should

that be 'weren't' or 'wasn't'? It's

a funny place for a word, sort of

in-between of singular and plural,

AND, past and present too! I

wonder how often that occurs?

-

I remember once a horse-shoeing

guy, on the east side, maybe w17th,

way over, when it used to be all

garages and work-places and

sheds there. You could find most

anything. Except maybe umbrella

repair. I don't think there were any

umbrella repairmen. You laugh;

but I'm serious. NYC's a huge

umbrella town, and I never knew

why. Sidewalk guys, shoe-repair

shops, those watch battery/belts,

ties and show-shine joints, they

all also used to sell AND FIX

umbrellas! That used to freak

me too  -  what's a stupid

umbrella. Back then you could

buy one most anywhere for a

buck and a quarter. I just too

remembered the word for that

gouging of the road for new

paving. It's called 'milling.'

When they 'mill' a road first,

then you know it's a serious

re-paving. They actually lower

the road, by maybe the two

inches of the old paving they

scour away. Have to. Otherwise

by now the roads would be

high up, higher than the curbs

for sure. Wouldn't that be neat.

'Hey! Look down that crevice;

I wonder what that is.' ('That?

That's the curb, silly.')...

-

Anyhow, if they don't mill

it, and just throw the new

paving down, it's really more

like patching : 'Assignment,

Road Crew: Today we'll be

patching Finderne Road.'

(Down by the mill?)....

-

When I was saying everything

worries me now, and gets me

down, a good example would

be my dog. Now she's a good

old dog, best I ever had or saw.

But she's getting old, and slowed

down a lot, and way more

deliberate. I never need to

worry anymore about her

charging out after something

or into traffic. She doesn't

have the kind of energy any

more. What really gets me

down, like every day at some

point when I'm with her and I

notice the changes, is the idea

that she'll be passing on soon

enough. I'm not prepared, and

not sure how I'll face all that.

I get sad just thinking it. It's a

new unknown to me, and then

today, with all this virus crap,

I read a long article about how

veterinarians are all sad with

all the dogs dying, in their care,

and the owners can't come in

to see them (?) they have to

drop them off remotely, outside

the glass, and how it's heart

wrenching and how dogs are

dying too because at present

even the veterinarian respirators

have been commandeered for

sick-human use. It told of

how veterinarians are driving

home now, at the end of their

shifts, in tears over what had

transpired during that shift.

Yeah. If Sam gets sick now, I

hope she'll just die or something

in her sleep. Or not wake up. It's

really all I can deal with. I'm

like a fragile, stupid, little and

dumb, teacup here. And there's

little left. And I don't know

what I can do. Tip me over,
and pour me out.

-

The horseshoeing guy I mentioned,

he was named Jakob Ketz. That's a

real Jewish, as it always is when

you see 'Jakob' spelled with a

K. Instead of a C. At first I was

baffled by why a Jewish guy

would be just a horse-shoe guy.

It seemed unlike the normal

New York Jewish person, who was

usually some high-professional,

a doctor or a psychologist or a

shrink or some scholar or futzy

professor, or some crazy religious,

Talmudic guy. They had female

rabbis, but I still use 'guy.' I

figured the Ketz thing was a

shortened version of something

else. Ketzstein or Ketzberg;

and then later, when I learned a

little more (there were curious,

old Jewish movies abut all this

too, if that's what one wished

to learn from  -  'Lies  My Father

Told Me,' which was about an

old rag-picker guy, a grandpa,

and his grandson, in old Jewish

Toronto. And of course there

was always 'Fiddler On the Roof,'

and 'The Apprenticeship of

Dudy Kravitz.' They were each

good, in their own way). He was

more representative of the old

line, Ukrainian Jew than I'd

ever realized. They were poor,

men and women of the Earth;

farming, horses, oxen, plows,

blacksmithing, metal working,

and the rest, were actually very

natural to their everyday

conditions. So I had it wrong,

and Ketz had it right.

-

And then, later, about 1972

a great book was published,

called 'World Of Our Fathers,'

by Irving Howe. Boy, that 

book rattled me too; a precise

summation of all that had 

gone before; the immigrant 

experience, old NYC, the

old country, and the Jewish

experience. New York, in

retrospect, was about the most
intense Jewish experience I'd

ever experienced. I used to go to

Williamsburg  -  the Brooklyn one,
not 'Colonial Williamsburg, in 
Virginia or wherever that is  -   too,

just to look at the stores selling

all those hats and clothes that

were worn by the Hasids and

the Orthodox. And they had,

as well, as these odd and weird,

streetside, restaurants and cafes.

Dairy, or not. Mostly not; which

just meant black coffee to me,

unless I wanted to put that

ridiculous, fake-chemical-milk

powder, they had. Cremora, I

think it was; something like

that. Yuck. The whole thing was
just a nice, long walk across the
Williamsburg Bridge, instead of the
Brooklyn Bridge, which most people 
walked. I always liked the Williamsburg
one because of all the cool metal and
steel and the train-cars of the 'subway'
as they went by. Pretty cool being 200
or whatever feet above the water, and
having a 'SUBway' train come rolling
by you, in the sky sort of. Wasn't 
anything  'subway' about that. In
fact, it was just plain crazy. So, I'm
done here, for this chapter, with one
sort of 'crazy' from lockdown.

Hope you liked it.