RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,344
(finding mrs. koebel)
30-day notes, 60-day notes. I
suppose there were also 90 and a
180-day notes and beyond, though I
never checked any of that out. Far
too complicated of a financial base
for me. I mail-ordered, one time,
a bunch of tools from somewhere.
I forget where it was, but they
arrived all in good order, and
that was my first supply of real
'tools', and my first 'mail-delivery'
order too, except for back in
Avenel when I'd order car parts
by phone from J. C. Whitney
Company in Chicago.
-
The whole situation I was living,
that first Winter, was, really, totally
stop-gap. I had no strategy and no
real plans except to 'react' to things
as they arose. The house had, in and
of itself, three different driveways,
for instance. One led to the garage
space underneath the house, which
is the one I mostly used - mainly
for the snow/shelter it provided,
except that the swing-out doors
(not garage-style doors), required
a large sweep of snow-shoveling
to swing open. Bummer. Another
one ran up along the top of the
property, and which ended you up,
actually, a little-ways off from the
house. That's where I eventually
and later on, parked the daily
school-bus - which I hated
because of that harsh yellow
color. (Thinking like an 'artist'
had little relevance up there; you
had to think more as in a 'survival'
mode than in the usual urban and
art mode. Columbia Crossroads could
otherwise really do you some damage).
-
When the snow finally cleared, that
first Spring, it was like a revelation.
Grass and small trees, all sorts of
things, began sprouting anew; I got
to view the land, near and far. It was
no longer a monochrome black/white
alternating world. Small animals an
bugs and flies began stirring, as if
at some stupendous new tolling of a
bell, all Nature re-awoke. Nothing
noticed me, though I noticed most
all of it. High, high in the sky, trailing
white smoke, were distant jets and
planes. Whereas they used to appear
vivid and up-close crawling over
Rahway and Woodbridge as they
trekked out from Newark Airport
to begin their wide turns and arcs
upward, now they were already
5 miles high above, and without
noise. I never even really knew where
they'd originated - Newark, JFK, or
Scranton airport? And where they
were headed, I cared about less.
-
We lived gently and carefully on the
main floor of the house, as I've noted,
huddled mostly in the three rooms
around the coal stove area. There were,
above us, 6 or 7 other rooms up one
staircase, and, above that, another
staircase which brought the climber
up to an open attic area what was
open and spacious, and smelled
wonderfully of maple. I guessed it
was the old wood, breathing. Without
heat, these two higher floors were
quite cold - though by mid-May and
then June, that was all forgotten and
both floors became wonderful extra
areas. We made two bedrooms up,
on the second floor, and - though
not for us - we put our visitors and
guests there, and everyone always
loved it. Winter and Summer were
two completely different operations
in that house.
-
I made, soon enough, some local
friends. I never related to any of
them and told them as little about
myself as possible; just to keep it
all on 'their' basis, not mine. NYC
simply brought suspicions out. They
didn't really have any idea of urban
living, nor of the sorts of things I
had faced, and I surely didn't wish
to introduce the subject to them. So
any new 'version' of me would be
custom-crafted to their molding. It
all worked out fine enough, and I
began 'prospering' a little more than
I had before. Once some time had
passed and I had a few acquaintances
and new references to local folk, things
get easier - needs were met, and any
problems that arose were able to be
easily solved or aided by local folk,
-
One weird thing was the telephone
on our wall. It was a 'party line' - and
was shared by 6 or 7 families along
the line. If you picked up the phone
and someone was talking, you hung
up and waited. That was how it was
supposed to be done. But, we soon
found that, when our phone was in
use (we actually made few calls, but
parents and such would call us), the
click 'up' was not always followed
by a click 'off.' Which meant, often
enough, that some local biddy was
getting pleasure out of listening to
what those 'new people' were talking
about. It hardly mattered, since it was
nothing anyway, but it got annoying.
When the phone rang and the call
was NOT for your house, you'd hear
the buzz of the current/electricity,
but the phone wouldn't 'ring'. It
only rang in the house to where
the call was going - but that
buzz/hum was enough to alert
others that the phone was in use.
So, I guess, they'd pick up, snoop
a bit, and hang on if it was us. I
always wanted to start saying
these mysterious, conspiratorial
things to get them riled, but I
never did, like : "OK, I buried
the money sack in the far back,
by the woods. It's under two
crossed logs pointed west. No
one will ever find it, and when
the next load comes in I'll do
the same thing, and then you
can come dig it out."
-
I was fortunate too, if you think
about it, that things which could
have been real problems never
arose. The roof had no leaks. The
foundation was solid. The side
portion of the house, to the east,
had an added on, separate room
too, real nice, with its own entrance.
Glass-walled on one side, it was
a nice sun-room, except that the
eastern Summer sunlight really
did bake the room sometimes.
A previous owner had been the
tax-collector for the area homes,
and a Notary Public too - so this
room had its own entrance and
doorway, and was done up nicely
too, for business, etc. Plus, for
some reason it had TWO pianos,
one each on different sides of
the room. One was in much
better shape than the other, but
they both worked. It was kind
of cool, and I'd often enough
times, sit there and plink away.
-
Some names always kept coming
up - names that came out of the
house; people mentioning things:
Parmenter, Koebel, and others. No
one I ever met or knew, but they
must have been local people with
bad reputations. From what I was
able to gather, this Parmenter fellow
was having an affair with the Koebel
missus, and Mr. Koebel got wind of
it, and some bad stuff ensued. The
funny thing, too, was the phrase they
used in conversation, to refer to the
'affair'. Parmenter was 'scratching'
Mrs. Koebel, and for the longest
time too. I'd never heard that before.
Parmenter ended up in Ohio, on
some other land and property he'd
bought out there. One day a guy
about 25 years old showed up at
our door. He asked to be allowed
in, to see the old place where he'd
lived and grown up. Turned out he
was the Parmenter son! He stayed
a while, we talked a little. His Dad
was happy in Ohio, and all was
well. No mention was made of the
alleged indiscretions we'd heard
of. Another time this 'touristy'
couple, older people, stopped by
the side of the dirt road to let their
dog out to pee and run a little, and
when they saw me they came over
and asked if we'd mind if they looked
around and came into the house to
see how 'charming' it must be inside.
The 'country' life intrigued them.
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