GND got a new toy--a tent for his Dually. Only
he didn't know where to begin. So, he appears at my doorstep with a bottle in
one hand and two glasses with ice in the other, looking sheepishly. It's nine
in the evening, but he's so excited he's got to check it out NOW.
I'm just cleaning up after dinner and offer him the remnants of the stir-fry and wild rice.
"What's this brown stuff? Meat?"
"Nope." I say, staring at him to see if he can figure it out on his own. It's late and I'm just not where I was at dawn.
He stares back inquisitively. OK, so that's how it's going to be. One of THOSE nights.
"It's wild rice," I state flatly, which then triggered a ten minute discussion on rice and what qualifies the wild varieties as "wild, and are they, in fact, cultivated, and if so where and by whom. Then it all ceased abruptly and I look over at him and smile because I know he's finally put it all together.
"My People," he says proudly. He has just recently been learning about his Algonquin heritage. Wants to get a blood test and everything.
"Yes, yes. Your People. My People. OUR people." He looks at me. I look at him.
"Want help with your tent, do you?"
"If you wouldn't mind. I know you've had loads of experience with tents and all."
"Being a hobo, yeah, I have." I jest, because I can.
"That's not what I mean." He's sorry, thinking he's offended me. Drained from my day, I just laugh it all off and walk across the yard that separates his place from my mother's towards his truck and the long box that UPS delivered an hour before.
"You know this means I won't be getting up at five tomorrow morning to walk with you."
"Oh, OK," he says.
This is how it began.
"So, if the dealership can't offer you anything more than a grand for your car, I'll buy it. I'm looking for a more economical commuting vehicle than my truck."
"But," I nod my head towards his motorcycle," you've got the bike."
He's an engineer--I seem to attract them--who over thinks things, always choosing the overly complex method to getting a job done.
"Well, I like things done the right way," he justifies.
"Oh, OK," I smirk. And I leave it at that.
So, I help him to break the problem down.
"I can't take the bike because there's too much traffic when I get on the road."
"Then why not leave earlier?" I reason.
"I just can't," he says. He believes he can't get to work on time because he can't wake up in the morning. Needs a good three hours slumped in front of the TV watching Japanese news and Italian sit coms slurping pints of coffee before he can get it together to walk out the door.
He's an educated man, he is. Multiple degrees, one of which is biology.
"You do know that coffee is just a placebo, right? That nutritionally, biologically, other substances do more to actually kick start our energy levels than the levels of caffeine in coffee?"
I've hit a core; he drops to the nearest chair, holding his heart. To make up for the shock, I've agreed to show him that if he got up and walked a mile or two in the early AM he might just be awake enough to get on the road earlier, etc and so on. It's been working, so far.
"Well, I can still walk by myself. I'd rather you help me with the tent now."
Within thirty minutes we had the tent installed in/on his truck bed. I ran next door to get my inflatable mattress that I use in my car with my hatchback tent. I pump it up quickly to allow him the full experience since the one he ordered hasn't yet arrived. He was a happy man.
This is all new for him, this living light, this making choices that enhance his well being. At 60, he's just now beginning to live his life as if it were his own. He's got a doctor's visit coming up and is afraid he'll be told he's dying. Thus, his zest to live.
"I wonder if I can rig it so that I can play my amp and base in here when I'm out camping?" He's looking at me with genuine pleasure. I tousle his hair and say goodnight, leaving him smiling beneath the stars in the back of his big boy truck.
I'm just cleaning up after dinner and offer him the remnants of the stir-fry and wild rice.
"What's this brown stuff? Meat?"
"Nope." I say, staring at him to see if he can figure it out on his own. It's late and I'm just not where I was at dawn.
He stares back inquisitively. OK, so that's how it's going to be. One of THOSE nights.
"It's wild rice," I state flatly, which then triggered a ten minute discussion on rice and what qualifies the wild varieties as "wild, and are they, in fact, cultivated, and if so where and by whom. Then it all ceased abruptly and I look over at him and smile because I know he's finally put it all together.
"My People," he says proudly. He has just recently been learning about his Algonquin heritage. Wants to get a blood test and everything.
"Yes, yes. Your People. My People. OUR people." He looks at me. I look at him.
"Want help with your tent, do you?"
"If you wouldn't mind. I know you've had loads of experience with tents and all."
"Being a hobo, yeah, I have." I jest, because I can.
"That's not what I mean." He's sorry, thinking he's offended me. Drained from my day, I just laugh it all off and walk across the yard that separates his place from my mother's towards his truck and the long box that UPS delivered an hour before.
"You know this means I won't be getting up at five tomorrow morning to walk with you."
"Oh, OK," he says.
This is how it began.
"So, if the dealership can't offer you anything more than a grand for your car, I'll buy it. I'm looking for a more economical commuting vehicle than my truck."
"But," I nod my head towards his motorcycle," you've got the bike."
He's an engineer--I seem to attract them--who over thinks things, always choosing the overly complex method to getting a job done.
"Well, I like things done the right way," he justifies.
"Oh, OK," I smirk. And I leave it at that.
So, I help him to break the problem down.
"I can't take the bike because there's too much traffic when I get on the road."
"Then why not leave earlier?" I reason.
"I just can't," he says. He believes he can't get to work on time because he can't wake up in the morning. Needs a good three hours slumped in front of the TV watching Japanese news and Italian sit coms slurping pints of coffee before he can get it together to walk out the door.
He's an educated man, he is. Multiple degrees, one of which is biology.
"You do know that coffee is just a placebo, right? That nutritionally, biologically, other substances do more to actually kick start our energy levels than the levels of caffeine in coffee?"
I've hit a core; he drops to the nearest chair, holding his heart. To make up for the shock, I've agreed to show him that if he got up and walked a mile or two in the early AM he might just be awake enough to get on the road earlier, etc and so on. It's been working, so far.
"Well, I can still walk by myself. I'd rather you help me with the tent now."
Within thirty minutes we had the tent installed in/on his truck bed. I ran next door to get my inflatable mattress that I use in my car with my hatchback tent. I pump it up quickly to allow him the full experience since the one he ordered hasn't yet arrived. He was a happy man.
This is all new for him, this living light, this making choices that enhance his well being. At 60, he's just now beginning to live his life as if it were his own. He's got a doctor's visit coming up and is afraid he'll be told he's dying. Thus, his zest to live.
"I wonder if I can rig it so that I can play my amp and base in here when I'm out camping?" He's looking at me with genuine pleasure. I tousle his hair and say goodnight, leaving him smiling beneath the stars in the back of his big boy truck.
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