Just Wandering

“ Don’t ya think you were over paid ? ”

That’s what my Father asked me recently in reference to what I made as a bricklayer in Boston back in the 1990’s. And so I looked back at that time and considered the fact that all the men I worked for got rich…really rich, and I was more than happy to help them along with this. I also looked back at what it took for me to learn my skills and perform them correctly thus providing a quality product in exchange for wages. And lets toss into the fray the extreme discomfort suffered in the elements ranging from extreme heat to extreme cold and let us please not mention the physical wear and tear this old body has suffered……

And so….

“ No Dad….I never once thought I was over paid….not once….ever.”

I live in a nation that at one time proved itself the most proficient in the world at absolutely everything until it was considered that American workers were greedy and therefore priced themselves out of a job . And so I would like to tell you about a little something I’ve been watching for a week now. It’s an addition to an old folks home and it’s a rarity in that its being veneered in brick and the three young Mexicans are giving it an honest effort under the watch full eye of their Gringo boss……

One weeks work has netted the four of them a total of about 1800 bricks laid….about what it would take me and an experienced laborer… even at my advanced age… under three days. I won’t mention I can offer a better product but I must argue the point of the benefit of cheap labor……

One well paid skillful tradesman paid less than three semi skilled and producing more…..what’s so wrong with that concept ?

Sour grapes ? ….you bet your ass

“Don’t confuse your travel agent with God ”.

That’s what an American author named Kenneth R. Morgan wrote quite some time ago and I paid little heed to Kenneth’s advice that day when I confronted a travel agent in Adelaide with a simple fact……

“ Ya just gotta find me a cheaper flight somehow….I need to be able to pay for transport from the airport to my parents house on arrival ”

And so as it was pre computer days the poor agent earned his money and got on the phone and started the arrangements and after considerable effort and time beamed up at me to say…..

“ I think we can shave about $180 off that flight Sir ”…. this of course brought my instant response of ….

“ I’ll take it !” …. and so that very Saturday morning I hopped a flight from Adelaide to Perth in order to catch my flight to Kuala Lumpur where I couldn’t dawdle as the connecting flight to Thailand was not far off. The Thailand to Bombay stretch was a bit tiring but the next flight to Athens before connecting to Rome seemed oh so quick in comparison.

The plane change in Paris gave me the first welcome opportunity of non aircraft food in some 40 odd hours though frankly it kind of sucked. I did manage to happily indulge myself however by showing the French how rude an American can be by hogging four crowded waiting area seats in a row for some nap time thus forcing some of them to stand. I said it then and I’ll say it now….

“Tough chit Frenchy”

The end of the Paris to London flight brought an almost instant plane change and by this time Boston was a mere seven hours away and I arrived there happily after some fifty five hours of travel time behind me . The cab driver outside of Logan Airport said….

“ Boston to Manchester ….that will be a hundred bucks.”

Fifty miles later I handed over the hundred dollars and a ten dollar tip leaving me with exactly seventy bucks needed to buy the necessary tools to look for a job laying brick……I’d say that travel agent cut it mighty fine.

As we do every year or so Mag and I attended another circus today. It was just a small class B circus act but it gave us excuse enough to go to Sarasota and visit our favorite Colombian restaurant “Mi Tierra“ after the show. I also figured either one of these venues might provide yet another story and I wasn‘t disappointed.

We ended up with the greatest of fortune to be seated next to the four year old subject of my story enjoying his first circus up in the last row of bleachers.

“ Hey !!….nice meeting you clown !!”

That’s what he called out to Bozo as the clown passed by and his excited enthusiasm was evident. This young guy stood out amongst his peers as I couldn’t help but sadly notice the lack of enthusiasm from fully half of the kids there who merely sat engrossed in eating Sno Cones so slowly the melted contents spilt over everything . The little girl in front of us never once even bothered to point her bored countenance in the direction of the show while our friend beside us clapped and sang and gyrated in imitation of all that happened before his excited eyes .

And so I pause to ponder and come to conclude that in all likely hood that little girl will not even remember the most exciting part of her day….the melted blue Sno Cone all over her clothes. But the young boy beside us…..

Well I’m betting he will always remember the biggest three ringer of all time….and he’ll always have that story to tell…..and will

And many more I’m sure….

Its Friday the thirteenth and as always it brought a memory of eight years ago when on this day our home was wrecked by Hurricane Charlie. This Friday the thirteenth brought forth yet another memory as I collected the change from my daily beer expenditure at the local Publix grocery store.

“ My God … look at your change .” said the cashier… and so I did.

It was precisely $9.11 and those numbers 911 prompted the familiar yet unknown cashier to explain she was a New Jersey nurse and an early responder on that ghost of a day that shall haunt this nation for quite some time to come . In turn I told her of our friends Pat and Margaret who lost their son Shawn that very same day as he and his girl friend were passengers of the second aircraft to hit the towers.

The irony of all this is that I met Pat and Margaret a couple of years ago as I helped them liquidate the estate of Margaret’s uncle and our friend and neighbor Clifford . I had thought of them earlier this very day as I attended an estate sale in the opportunist hope that I might find something that I might resell for profit…. much as I had done with some of Clifford’s possessions.

I think the lesson is here to be learned or perhaps relearned….we need be ready, always…for that which we realize is inevitable and yet somehow never expect. We need prepare for the unthinkable in order that we might be a lesser burden to those we leave.

Today’s sale reminded me of my feelings when I helped Pat and Margaret that day a couple of years ago…the feeling that I should be prepared. To settle the details and not allow friends opportunity to glimpse the secrets of my past as they help my wife throw them in the dumpster much as I had glimpsed the secrets that Clifford would have rather remained unknown .

And the amount of today’s change from my daily beer expenditure reminded me…..

of how few steps I’ve taken towards this preparedness

I’ll set the early morning scene for you as one where I’m engrossed in my very early morning computer searches as I sip the first cup of coffee while the wife potters in the kitchen. Suddenly it’s….

“ Do you quero Joe Plate con your arepa ? ”

Now most everything sinks in automatically in a situation like this as my mind would instantly translate this to ….

“Do you want Joe Plate with your unleavened bread breakfast ? ” ……

It’s the unfamiliar items such as Joe Plate that is what causes me to inquire…

“ What ? ”

This of course bringing the agitated and louder response of…..

“ I said do you want Joe Plate with your desajuno !? ”

“ Just what in Gods name is Joe Plate … I never heard of Joe Plate ? ”

Naturally being so early in the morn it hasn’t occurred to me that this all had begun two days ago at the grocery store when Mags informed me we would be trying something different….and I didn’t pay attention.

“ It’s strawberry ! ”

And so I saw that it was indeed strawberry as she stood holding up before my eye the little container that did not hold the familiar Activia yogurt but instead…… Yoplait.

They enjoyed the dog walkers most I think . People in Florida walk dogs around neighborhoods a lot and you could set your watch by them . There are burly men with tiny little puff ball dogs and tiny little women with gargantuan animals straining at the leash all in perfect sync and always on schedule, each of them an important part of the rhythm.

Then there is the guy who never walks his dog but instead as regular as a high fiber diet takes him for a cruise in the Caddy. Every afternoon the pair head out of the drive to make one complete circle of the block before heading out to God knows where to return an hour later . I haven’t figured out the block circle yet but shortly after the lady walking the Chihuahua comes by. This is unique as the dog doesn’t walk instead choosing to take its daily constitutional as the sole passenger of a baby stroller.

The young pit bull owned by the diversity group never left the yard and sadly died two weeks ago. We believe it to be a possible drug overdose having probably licked up a fallen tidbit off the floor. Showing their normal energetic zeal the young owners buried the thing right where it laid down and died….the front lawn. The fresh earthen mound leaves a fond memorial….

There are cars that never move and boats that never sail, bicycles that lay on lawns months at a time but once in a while something different happens….the guy that’s had an ambulance parked in the yard for ten years has finally sold it and the landmark has been removed. From the looks of him I always figured he‘d figured he’d be needing an ambulance soon. Now I’m wondering if I’ll see his wife take a shovel to the lawn and build an earthen mound memorial…..

I enjoy the odd little thing that suddenly sparks a memory of something that though not entirely forgotten …..is just not remembered enough.       

          “ A place “  is what Pat said on Wheel of Fortune tonight as Vanna strutted up to mark the clues                      

                                     _ _ _ D _  _ R

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We were building the likes of sundry small stuff such as CVS drugstores in the Florida humidity and frankly it was quite a comedown. One particularly tropical day the crew broke for lunch and as we all sat in our favorite shady spot my cell phone rang…my previous long term employer called to say…

“ Richie…it’s Bob and I’ve just picked up a chunk of work in North Carolina. Money will be good.”

“ Really Boss ? “ I said delighted to hear the news . “ Good money you say? “ and before he could answer I knew I was hooked.

“ Yeah Richie….could be quite a few months .” said Bob and he needn’t have bothered as by now it was more than evident what was about to happen.

“ I’m in “… said I as my foreman sat there next to me hanging on every word and when I hung up he promptly asked…

“ This yer last friggen day ? ”……

“ No Sir , this is my last friggen minute .” was my delighted response

And so I handed my unbitten sandwich to a lunchless laborer and rose to gather my tools and within the promised minute  ….I was gone.

“ You took a frap on the golf course…?” asked Scotty

“ What else could I do?“ and so we headed off to work only to return ten hours later. As we pulled up to the side of my vehicle a golf cart came racing across our vision to come to a screeching halt before a ball 40 yds away. One of the two occupants leapt out to address this ball on the fairway when suddenly it was obvious even from that distance what he had to say ….

“ Shit !”……and suddenly he lifted his right foot to view what was obviously my fist full of roll flapping in the breeze from the bottom of his spiked golf shoe. Scotty and I sat there enjoying the scene and our perfect timing and of course laughing a great deal. But we didn’t laugh near as much  as we did the next day as we arrived  at the park and ride to find a newly placed blue plastic Porta Let toilet standing in the corner of the parking lot 

I used to fly fish for trout on the Contoocook River a lot. There likely wasn’t a spot on the river for miles that I wasn’t familiar with and that meant I was usually a very successful fly caster. During one particularly difficult fishing season I fished this river three times a week with pretty fair success and was happy to share that fact with all that asked about how I did.

“ We got skunked again. “

That’s what the two worm fishermen said to me time and time again as I met them frequently stream side and each time we met I stopped to boast of the trout I caught. I had almost become a fly rod snob and hinted they should learn the skill.

“I can’t believe you can catch more trout on flies than we can with worms……you are using flies right ?” That’s what they said to me time after time and I could see they looked dubious over my catch and release claims.

One happy day I took my very young nephew Richie out to introduce to him the joys of capturing a trout. As he was too young for the patience needed to just let the bait sit I was kept busy replacing it every time he reeled it in and that was always as soon as it got tossed . Eventually he said…..

“ Hold my fishing pole Uncle Richard…I need to go pee.” and he disappeared off behind the boulders to indulge himself the pleasure .

While he was gone I reeled his line in to place a fresh gob of day glo orange Power Bait on his hook along with a bobber to stop the snags on the bottom. As I cast this rig into the river I looked up to find my two worm fisher friends standing on the bank watching my every move .

“ Big fly fisherman…yeah right .” said one of them.

My two worm fisher friends never did stop for a chat again….they viewed me as a fake and that disappointed me a great deal. After all…. no braggart is worth a darn without an audience .

“ We thumb back to the car and break into the trunk through the back seat to retrieve my tools….then we cut the speaker wire and use it to attach the coil to the battery. Then we cross the starter with a screw driver and presto…..we’re driving home .”

“ You can really do that Richard ??”……Perry needed to know because we were a long way from home.

 ” Sure I can ”   was my boast and that’s exactly what we did and I basked in the glory of endless praise from my friend as the engine fired up and sat there purring like a kitten as we giggled like school kids and smoked a calming cigarette.

“ All right “ I said….. “ Lets get outta here and go pick up the canoe”

At this point the happy smiles were wiped clean as we discovered the transmission of the 1971 Dodge Duster was still locked in Park……

“ It’s starting to rain “ he whined and I had to explain that that’s a feeble excuse as in the rapids….“we’re gonna get wet anyway.”

We slid the canoe into the water at the start of a four mile paddle as the rain started to sting the unprotected flesh…and then it was too late. By the time we had reached the end of 500 yards the lightening was more than intense and as it struck a tree just to our left my brother turned back to mouth his disgust in me. I couldn’t hear what he said as the next crack of thunder was far more intense . Within a mile we had witnessed yet another tree get struck sending splinters and shards of wood everywhere and it was obvious we needed to get off the river.

We lucked upon a picnic table that had been washed down the river and we huddled under it as the thunder and lightning cracked again and again all around us . Some time later with precious little daylight left to finish the journey I had to tell my Brother….

“ We spend the night…paddle now …..or paddle out in the dark “

Turns out that what ended up preventing us from paddling out in the dark was the lightening. It would light up the river for us as we sped along dodging boulders and slamming rocks until eventually arriving at the pullout …wet , cold and suffering the adrenaline shakes. It was indeed ….a memory.

As happenstance would have it there are a few stories similar to this over the years involving my Brother David and I and each with similar results . And so it comes as little mystery he would answer my next request for his company on another adventure with a polite but concise….

“ I wouldn’t go to the effing mall with you “

“Where ? Where ?” and a short time later

“There’s another ! “ pointed out Maggie and everyone rushed to the other side while “Wildlife Expert” called out…

“ Where ? Where ?”

This continued on as Maggie was first to point out pigs and deer, egrets and eagles and much to “Wildlife Experts” chagrin, many more gators.  “Wildlife Expert” by this time had welded his field glasses to the front of his head in a determined effort to be the first to spot something making him oblivious to the two young boys who had met and befriended each other playing directly behind him.

Suddenly there was a quick scuffle and of all the people on that top deck one of those boys chose to run directly up to me to pour out his teary lament.

“ That kid kicked me !” and his little body was already jerking in the beginnings of a tormented sob. Never having been a parent I could only reach back for the advice my Father would have given me…..

“ Well go back there and kick him back.“  was about all I could offer and that little boy did exactly that. We all sat and witnessed one of the greatest World Cup Soccer winning kicks of all time creating such a burst of screaming anguish from the victim that “Wildlife Expert“ finally yanked the field glasses out of his eye sockets.

The only ones looking pleased over this episode was “Wildlife Expert” as his ineptitude was no longer being noticed as the entire vessel was busy glaring at me. And of course young Pele who had just learned that he need not be anyone’s passive victim. The ostracism I suffered  the rest of the cruise was led by the victims parents who continually gave me the sidelong fish eye though they never uttered a word. But I did get a thumbs up from young Pele.

It’s likely most on the vessel that day have  forgotten this episode , but I’m betting ” neither ” of those young boys have…

And frankly… I think my wife should have collected the tip basket that day

 I work at one of the “big boxes” as do numerous people like me. Many of us are at the age where we might view our jobs as….well…though not exactly the elephants graveyard most certainly closer the finish than the start. Many of us have had careers where we’ve enjoyed the fruits and rewards for supplying a skill or knowledge over many years. We’ve been leaders and mentors in fields that have ultimately deemed us far too expensive in today’s exported jobs and imported labor economy and so dumped us like refugees to huddle at the “big box” refugee camps in hopes our work ethic may provide some small security.

But we work side by side with a different story. We work with those young enough to see that “big box” as a beginning and so grasp its opportunities and I’m sadly glad to have just witnessed that very thing. My mentor in my new field of flooring and décor has been diligent and has shown the patience of skilled leadership. It feels odd to me in that in my past life it was the elders who did the mentoring and now I learn my new skills from the young .

David is leaving. His abilities have been recognized and he has been promoted to a much higher position at a different store and this is a truly wonderful thing and I am pleased about that . Our working lives have intersected briefly on their directionally opposite paths and I’m pleased they did though disappointed in how brief.

Go get em Buddy ……I’m sure the next step is just that… a step for you .

“ Papito….some people have nothing “

She reminds me of this fact often.

Mag was spending a couple of months in Colombia back in the winter of 1999 allowing me the treat of possessing the TV remote. I sat one evening flipping through the news channels touting the worlds woes when a few select words caught my ear……

“Earthquake and Armenia and Pereira Colombia “

Maggie was close by when an earthquake of 6.8 on the Richter toppled two thirds of the city of Armenia and it was three anxious days before phone contact between us could be made. When it was she asked…..

“ Papito….people have lost everything and need food….can I spend our money ?”

She needn’t have bothered asking….she had already used the check card and spent our money on food and had spent the past two days with other volunteers on numerous food ferrying missions to what was by now a riot torn city . The government was slow to respond to the catastrophe and very quickly the city was rife with looting, rioting and robberies for just food. By this time the initial death toll of one thousand had been driven to two thousand . My wife and her friends showed great courage being early responders to that horrific catastrpohe…. they made up many meals and on every delivery they braved violence and robbery to help the neediest .

and I am very proud of them

I suppose not unlike a South American siesta people in parts of Pakistan doze away some of the days heat with a little nap. I found myself one intensely hot day in need of a small rest and so paid the few rupees asking price for the rental of one of the numerous rope beds set up under the shade of a corrugated iron roof on the side of one very dusty road . The proprietor apologized that no tea was available as it was the Holy Month and I had little interest anyway. I just needed to lie down.

My western clothes attracted a lot of attention and I confess to having felt somewhat unnerved by the close and unwavering scrutiny of the occupants of the other rope beds . There was no way I was going to allow myself to nap under these circumstances was what I was thinking as I tried to nonchalantly avoid the curious and incessant stares.

“ Are you sleeping well ?” said the alarmed English speaking leader of the group that stood circling my bed. The sudden opening of my eyes had startled them as much as finding a dozen rough characters leaning forward to closely peer had startled me.

“ We are thinking you are looking American but your clothing is not. “ he said

“ You are right…my clothing is not American ” … I offered… ”And no, I am not sleeping well”……. and he went on to explain that they all napped there every day as they worked nearby and I was the first westerner to share their two hour “siesta“. We shortly parted company each taking with them some new knowledge of something unknown . I took away something else……

I took away one hellacious insect bite created rash gifted me by the miniscule critters I had shared that bed with.

I remember the very special England of my youth …..mostly English people lived there then and were permitted to believe there was nothing wrong with that. There were donkey rides to be had at the seaside and big portions of fish and chips served in news paper and the hawkers on the London streets provided not just things we wanted….they provided street colour and a taste of British culture.

“ Ave yer Nippers pitcher took wiv a monkey Luv ?“ was what the old fashioned Cockney organ grinder called out to my Mum. I’m sure there are few who can remember actually seeing these guys on the streets cranking out tinny tunes while the monkey passed the tin around for donations and that’s a shame. I remember them ….

“ Please Mummy…I want to hold the monkey …..please .” was my plead and what mother could resist a picture of her “nipper” holding something so adorable ? And so the deal was done and I found myself standing on that crowded London pavement excitedly holding that exotic and rare animal while the camera man readied and the organ grinder ground when……

The little bastard bit me on the left friggin ear causing me to excite not only the monkey, but my Mother with my loud wailing . Mum can quickly turn aggressive and the poor organ grinder very nearly became my first memory of street violence as the crowd stopped to enjoy the ensuing argument.

Many years later on a hike through the jungle on the Malay Peninsula a band of chattering monkeys followed after me in the tree tops and the memory of a five year old child came rushing back to remind me that …….

I’m still very afraid of monkeys

Well yesterday I found myself perusing the aisles of the local grocers with my usual load of cakes and soft fruits, eggs and bread nestled comfortably in the kiddy seat when the wine aisle stopped me dead in my tracks. A couple of minutes into the descriptive prose on various bottles of Chenin Blanc caused me to reach for the Sauvigon when I noticed I was being stared at .

A small passenger of a shopping cart kiddy seat sat across the aisle bug eyed and beat red while looking me directly in the eye as small grunts only made it all quite clear. That new clarity caused me to immediately remove my “delicates” and place them in the cart with the courser purchases…….

And it’s likely changed my shopping habits forever

“ Shouldn’t they be following closer ? ” I asked while thinking the 50 yards between us to be a rather large distance. Alfonso’s answer was to merely floor it as the Willey’s ate up the road quicker and the tropical fruit growing acres screamed by while Alfonso‘s men struggled to keep up.

“ So tell me Alfonso “ I said trying to seem nonchalant….

“ You need a permit for that thing down here ? “ I was referring to the .357.

“ Sure…. I got one “ he said and as the Willys took another corner sideways he pulled a 200 peso note from his shirt pocket to wave in the air.

“ You people up north ridicule this “ he said meaning bribes …. “ but down here it’s a system that works pretty well .”

But I was thinking it wasn’t so different than here….Every thing is correct and proper as long as you have the 200 peso note in your shirt pocket…no matter where you go.

And so she did with an old remedy that’s been handed down to us from long before the Spanish arrived to conquer her tribe deep in the Andean Mountain chain. And that’s not all…

Her sister lived here in the United States for years and was pained no end that  through all that time the Doctors and specialists would charge their fee’s to tell her she could not bear children. Finally, with no other option offered, she flew home to Colombia to visit a bruja…or witch doctor… in order to fix this problem that our specialists couldn‘t . You might laugh at her superstitious folly and she might laugh with you….she gave birth 14 months later and now has two kids .

But they can’t all be success stories I’m afraid. I once developed a large and extremely painful abscess at the edge of the most sensitive spot of the human posterior and was doubtful of my ability to actually go to work one very ugly morning…..

“ No problemo “ Maggie said as she quickly called forth the knowledge her family learned some 500 years ago and cooked up the ingredients to solve my very painful problem . She looked proud and confident as she stood there with all the solutions to my ailments spread out on the kitchen table. But I must have hurt her feelings as she looked crushed over my remarks alluding to the fact that……

“ Mag….there is absolutely no way that I can go to work with a spice and herb marinated slice of tomato duct taped to my ass “ …….

It wasn’t until the day I arrived home from a trip to Pakistan that the upset stomach began. Miraculous in that I didn’t suffer the normal travelers stomach in all my time in Pakistan the price still had to be paid. The ensuing eight weeks of bogus belly gave ample time to reflect on a man I know……

Akbar Sayanni had introduced himself with a business card introducing him as a representative of a company representing itself as Communications Specialists and sure enough….it had his name penned in ink over the previous possessors name. He had come recommended as I had discreetly inquired of transportation means that might take me places public transport would not. Hence, I hired the moonlighting taxi service unbeknownst to the “communications specialists” owner of the car.

We had been far from Karachi that day traveling through the intense heat and it being the Holy Month of Ramadan food and beverage were forbidden during daylight hours. At journeys end I was invited to his house where he and I were served fried vegetables by his children as the wife was forbidden to enter the room while I was there . I had already noticed that Pakistani Muslims might break the rules and eat and drink during Ramadan days if they thought no one was looking and I was glad of that fact when one of the sons brought a pitcher of water. Nimbu Pani …or lime juice was what I craved as it not only killed a thirst, it killed parasites and I can only assume I was not that exalted a guest on which to waste such lavish luxury.

In Pakistan the only safe water is known as English water….meaning purified or imported bottled water and not necessarily normal Pakistani fare. Regardless, my over thirsted tongue was as thick as boot leather and so tossed caution aside to gratefully chug one tall glass of this “uniquely” flavored water under Akbars sympathetic eye. His sing song accent said…..

“ That’s Pakistani water ….. not English water you know .”

And I did know…and so did he

A few days into our arrival one summer my Mother and I were bright and early boarding the subway …. or tube as its known in London, to take us over to the zoo. I was excited and impatient and sure that Guy would recognize an old friend and annual visitor and oh so longed for the thirty five minute train ride to end. It did eventually and we arrived at the zoo to ignore all it had to offer until we had visited that great beast from the French Cameroon’s.

And there he was. Powerful and handsome and as usual , unmoving as we stood before his large cage. Within but a whisker of a moment of our arrival Guy suddenly leaped up and I was awe struck at his quick and sure movements. And so was my Mother as what happened next was that Guy latched hold of a bucket and bounced it off the bars of his cage. Its contents …a full buckets worth which proved to be rancid water and gorilla urine….surged through the bars to drench my Mother from top to bottom.

I was really pissed that we didn’t get to see the rest of the zoo that day ….but a woman riding home on the subway with gorilla urine dripping from her dress is unlikely to be a study in sympathetic behavior…..

I continued to visit Guy almost to the time he died in 1978 and apart from my minds eye, never did see him move from his handsome cross armed pose again.