stop praying

"Stop praying for me.  Freaks me the fuck out."

These were the rarest of words for French to say to Rose.  His harsh tone revealed how he felt.  Rose had told him that she'd been praying for him to get a new job.  Within a week after saying this to him he'd gotten three different job offers.  This spooked him to be sure, and he'd actually not followed up on any of them; even though he hated his current position. 

French had avoided Rose for well over a month, but he showed up tonight for Sunday Dinner (a standing offer).  After dinner he said: "Sorry Rose.  You can go back to praying for me.  Just nothing specific okay?"  Rose smiled and nodded to French, and poured him a small glass of Bowmore.

10 year plan

French's grandfather, Smitty, got snowed in last weekend.  A shear pin broke on his snow blower.  We pulled it out and the three of us changed the oil, replaced the pin and the spark plug as well.  Smitty fired it up and plowed out his double wide driveway while we shovelled his frontlane and porch.

Afterwards he brewed us up some strong coffee with a solid dash of Canadian rye.  Smitty started talking about his 10 year plan: new perennials, staining his deck, new roof on his shed, and some new outdoor lighting for starters.  Smitty also wanted to "get back over to Dublin at some point".   He had a Lonely Planet: Ireland travel guide on his kitchen table.

Smitty, more or less, shooed us out after our coffee was done.  He said: "Thanks lads.  I'm off to bowling. Gonna beat that goddamned Scotty Macfarlane today".

I asked French how old Smitty was.  French said "bout 96...give or take".

Regrets

Bruce Fish rolled up in his truck.  Jumped out of his cab and said: "you boys got any regrets?"

French and I were trying to get the water going at the cottage.  He grabbed a cold Old Style Pilsner from the cooler and said: "yah just one.  You lads better grab a cold one."  He tipped his hat back, smiled and told this little tale:

Remember when we were at the fair when we were just lads?  That old guy came up and said: "you all look like you need an adventure.  Well head out past that big broken tree at the end of the park.  Behind it there is a gap in the fence.  Head out straight as an arrow about 50 yards or so. There is a case a beer buried under some long grass.  It is yours if yah want it."  That old fella just wandered away, and we hit the midway.

Well shit.  "Why'd we never go looking for it?  That is my regret."

Bruce laughed and said: "fuck that'd be some skunky beer if its still there."

Fiat Lux

   

 Fiat Lux is a prety odd greeting, but my old buddy Bruce Fish always calls (more like yells) that out to me when he sees me.  He'll often add "let there be light".  I've come to really appreciate it.  I drove into the county dump that he runs last week, and I couldn't see him.  I finally heard him rumbling around behind a huge recylcing bin.  He yelled out a truly hearty "fiat lux" then emerged from between two dumpsters.  He said "come see this shit",  and walked over to a picnic table.
 
     Bruce had a sun shade contraption that he'd rigged up over the table and a few choice items that he'd saved from the heap.  There was a microwave, two radios, and a broken guitar.  I'm pretty sure he'll be able to fix them all.  He showed me a small park bench he was working on; it looked great.  Someone had brought it in on the weekend, and tossed into the pit.  He'd pulled it out, sanded it down, repainted the metal, and stained the wood.  "Damn Bruce - this is fine work".  He told me that he'd used paint, stain, and even brushes that people had thrown away.
   
     He had a few drinks in a cooler that his wife Rose packed.  So we chatted for a bit about his other projects, and about his family.  We finished the drinks, and I sorted out my own reclyclying. I came back to close the back hatch of my van, and the newly refurbished park bench was loaded up.  I looked at Bruce and he said: "I did that for you brother".
   
     He smiled and ran off to deal with a big pick-up truck loaded with cottage trash.  I heard him yell "fiat lux" again as I drove off.

Smitty II

Smitty had a big list of jobs, so he asked us to pitch in for the day.  French and I launched into Smitty's list: smashing up an old concrete deck, pulling nails out of some wood he wanted to burn, and repainting his garden shed.  It was quite something to see a 90+ year old man taking a few swings with the sledge hammer.   I've also never seen a man paint to precisely.  Smitty didn't waste a drop.

After the work was done he said: "The place doesn't look half bad eh boys?"   He grilled us up some homemade burgers and we sat around a little campfire.  We had a few beers and swapped a few more tales.

When he got dark he said, "You boys wanna see something?"  Smitty took us down a path out back of his place.  We walked for about five minutes to his "gunge pile".  He dumped some of his non-compostable food in a pit under a huge white pine.  Smitty shone his flashlight up into the branches. There were seven pairs of eyes up in the tree.

French said: "Damn thats alotta racoons!"

Smitty said: "No wait.  Check this out."  He shone his flashlight up even higher.  There were one more pair of eyes...bigger eyes.  Smitty explained: "That there is a fisher, smaller cousin of the wolverine; those racoons are goners."

Smitty

French and I went to see his grandfather this week.  I haven't seen him for at least a decade or so, but he looks pretty much the same.  I guessed that he was 80, but he is actually in his nineties.

I introduced myself, but he said: "Ah hell I know who yah are."  He told me to call him Smitty.  He'd slept in, so he was running a bit late.  Smitty told us: "To shoot a bit a shit.  While I do my exercises." French told him a couple of funny stories from out on the road.  Smitty chuckled along and completed the same routine that he'd done for over 60 years:

1.  Stretches and Lunges...just a few.  Limber up.
2.  50 push ups
3.  25 sit ups
4.  100 squats
5.  10-15 minute headstand

I asked him if this regiment was the key to his longevity?  Smitty laughed and said: "Ask me again in a few years."

He went over to his kitchen sink.  It was full of ice cubes.   Smitty reached down to the bottom and pulled out three beers, and said: "Ok I'm all warmed up time to get the day started."

the bacon sizzled

I got French a job for the week subbing in for me; as I'm down with bronchitis.  He was happy to have a steady day job for a solid week.  When French can't get work teaching he'll head out on the road doing some long haul trucking.  He especially likes to do this in the winter, as most of the trips take him deep south..."outta the cold".

He had a bit of an adventure last week.  French missed a turn off for a truck stop, and kept driving looking for another one instead of doubling back.  He was two hours over on the logbook so he pulled off on the road in an old parking lot of a burned out motel.  French locked up and wandered into the woods, and made a little campfire.  He always brings along his little travel guitar (a Taylor Baby).  French sat around the fire and played and sang a few songs.

There was a steady breeze so the sound of his music travelled pretty far.  He said some old fella showed up after an hour or so.  He'd heard the music and had seen the light of the campfire from his porch.  He didn't come empty handed.  This old guy had brought a cast iron frying pan, a pound of bacon, and some bread.  He asked French if he could listen to some tunes in return for breakfast.  French said: "that'd be a damn fine trade".

So the bacon sizzled and French kept playing.

After he told me the story I said "pretty good night eh?"

French replied: "yah pretty good, but the plumbing sucked."