RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,243
(real life, and running with it)
..(part two)..
So, Randy says there are
various reason for not
owning a car around here.
His argument was spoken
well, but actually makes no
sense except for the fact
that he lives along Rt. 6,
walkable to Honesdale.
Otherwise, any other
locations in the 'hills
and hollers' around here,
motor vehicles are made
necessary because of the
rural isolation, the need
for supplies and the things
that 'modern' living now
makes necessary. So, it's
hardly an argument worth
having. I just let it go too.
His main points are the
initial expense, the needed
insurance expense, the
gasoline (of course), and
then he adds odd things
like the cleaning and
upkeep, (we had discussed
the filth, salt, and grime, of
Winter cars), and, he says,
'with the hills around here,
up and down, it's new brakes
every year, new rotors every
two years, not to mention
tires and inspection. A
person has to be crazy.'
-
I got to thinking how odd
it was too, since for the usual
male around these parts -
and even in Avenel, for what
it was worth, growing up -
motor vehicles and cars and
repairs were a male's prerogative.
Part of some weird, cultural
birthright by which that' male'
of the species expressed himself
and carved out a space and a
sense of quiet and reflection
while tinkering. Many great
stories, and careers, have come
out of that, and I felt that it
didn't seem right to grow (he
is from the Chicago area,
somewhere, where the lake
snows and winds always
carried through his tales),
without that gearhead sort
of awareness. Farm boys
for sure, the local types and
more, always used to be, in
my personal history, adept
at wrenching and fixing cars,
and the last thing - it seemed
anyway - they'd think about
were the things he kept
mentioning. It's a hard thing
to pin down, that certain quality,
but I always took it as (even
though I really was never so
good 'mechanical' things even
though by my means I got
things done) a place for boys
to have - a sort of certain
and solitary place where the
carburetors and the fuel
mixtures and spark advances
all somehow came together
and, at the same time, allowed
for a place for the solitary
thoughts to work through.
It was aways proof to me that
the human mind was able to
be doing two or more things
at once. An idea that is often
debated.
-
Randy, if he's never shared into
any of that, I figured, certainly
missed a lot. Accounting for the
lack of that, I've watched him
for the aspects of what things he
he's replaced that with. Randy
has a great penchant for going
on about Montana and Utah. As
real promised lands. He speaks
from experience, so I've guessed
he's lived there for a while too.
I've never gotten much into his
personal history - the places
and career things he may have
done. I don't really even know
his age, though I think it's about
55. Maybe a little more, but I
don't know. Swamp-Ass, on the
other hand, seems forever young,
and I'd figure she's for sure not
even 30. I think also that she's
just too happy to notice or worry
about such numbers.
-
When she bounds around out
there, at the table, the complexion
of the sitting changes. Randy gets
a tad tighter and less meaningful
about things, just instead throwing
things off and loosening any
threads. At some point, most of
it then turns routine - talk of
traffic, or the delivery trucks, the
road out in front, and things need
to be done, or not. She seems,
herself, always effortless and
free and gay (in that old sense
of what 'gay' originally meant).
I just watch along, and listen -
others come by and add their
input too. No one really knows
me, nor have I any local or
personal history with any of
them or the place. They seem
to all know each other, over
the long term. That's fine,
though, and it alters nothing.
-
Randy says he used to work the
County Fair each Summer. He
also said that very many of the
local kids did the same. But he
stopped a few years back - and
after asking why, he said that
new rules went into effect and
they stopped paying cash, daily.
It became regular payroll work,
with checks and deductions and
all of that, and he 'didn't want
none of that shit,' so he stopped.
He says there were many jobs
there, to be had - from parking
lot stuff out on the dirt fields,
or helping with clean-up and
maintenance, even food-service
and running booths or rides, but
only if you got lucky. But, anyway,
none the worse for wear from it,
he's now filled with the memories
and talk of the experience. I often
think back, figuring even 10 years
back it must have been a cool place.
-
A lot has changed. Even from my own
1970's days out at Columbia Crossroads
and then in Elmira - that was real
country stuff, and before any of
those really limiting rules and new
processes and regulations. Remember
my tale of John Harkness, who hung
himself at age 80, over the new bulk
milk-tank regulation that was then
instituted? I used to really like old
John - a quiet, powerful, silent man -
and when those new rules and things
came into being, along with their
expenses for meeting the new
standards, John just couldn't take
it. He was a real old-time type, and
in that same barn that I helped stack
a Summer's worth of billion-degree
heat hayloft bales, he went out one
night and hung himself, from one
of those same rafters I'd been seeing
each day. It was a real shame. From
the ruins of everything I see around
me here now - dead barns and silos,
broken down homes and abandoned
homes and houses - that same
dis-spiriting yet raging spirit must
have come through here too. All
the places I see, from Hawley
through Honesdale and Canaan and
points west and north, right out to
Scranton and beyond, they still
bear the raw wounds of the rather
destructive tendencies America
has of abandoning and destroying
itself. I can see all that, and sense
it, but what baffles me is how the
people like Randy and Swamp-Ass
too manage to miss all that and
live completely different lives than
I'd have ever thought of living...as
if with no view to the past or any
glance backward towards the 'other'
fabric of things. They're great people
and all, yes, but it's hard for me to
take in; any of that baffles me.
No comments:
Post a Comment