Tim was real handy, and had worked in construction for probably almost 30 of his 51 years. Well, more or less. Tim’s work ethic, was, lets say it was somewhat on a different level then the rest of us. I really don’t understand why, maybe it was his dyslexia, or his ADD. No one could call Tim lazy though, oh no, he just had a certain proclivity for tasks that suited him and him alone.
He’d rake the beach, and generally Tim was a bit of a neat freak, and loved everything to be all tidy and neat. I on the other hand, am not quite as obsessive, shall we say. My mind is what’s fidgety, and so I can merrily ignore the dishes in the sink, or the cloths on the chair for a day or two. Before I met Tim I could leave stuff lying around indefinitely, so I guess you could say that Tim domesticated me. I was once an incompetent cook, indifferent to dusting, vacuuming, dishes etal. I’ve always said, I wish I had staff. AND, one of my favourite Neil Young songs is A MAN NEEDS a MAID, well so do women. But no longer. I’ve improved, although looking around my apartment this morning, you’d question that.
Tim never wanted to play by the rules, he always had his own set that defined his actions. He was more likely to be found helping somehow, then going out working in the traditional sense. As the clippings in the photos illustrate, Tim was the guy that would drop everything on a dime, and go off and help, in whatever way he could. Ever since childhood, he had demonstrated this sincere need to think of others, above himself. His report cards were always mentioning how Tim would never get his own work done, because he was always off helping others.
Yet at some point, that desire to help, became entangled with his relationship with money. See, if Tim could finagle that money somehow how out of your hot little hands he would. Never through theft, oh no. Tim did not need to go that far, no, you would freely hand it over to him, and never to be seen again – except through constant and sustained nagging. I suppose I should have been less forgiving of Tim’s many faults, but I just couldn’t help but see the good in him.
He understood plumbing, electrical and all things related to home maintenance and repair. Oh, there is nothing sexier than a handyman. BAby. I mean, a guy that can install a sink, fix the wiring, plumbing and likes to RAKE the beach? He was known to stay over at friends homes, on occasion, when they were going to be away, and they always come home to a place that was cleaner then when they left it. He was almost obsessive about it, actually.
I have his tool belt, and I’ve kept as many of his tools as I could – or gave them to worthy candidates that will use them and appreciate them.
This weekend I’m painting the kitchen, and while I cover those blank, slate walls with a lovely, soft zen-like pale pale jade, I’ll certainly be thinking about Tim. I dunked a piece of xtra blind into the can last night and let it dry over night. WOW…its so beautiful, and I can’t wait. I picked this colour out almost 3 years ago now, and I’ve just been itching to use it somewhere. It is a very inspiring green, and I’m hoping it will help me to practice more of those domestic activities, and quit being a lazy wanker. I freely admit, that I strongly believe that “a creative woman has cobwebs in her corners, not her mind”.
Tim and I, irregardless, learned from one another. I calmed him down, and he sped me up. Got me to stop fidgeting, and speak, yell, whatever, just quit with that repetitive action crap. I couldn’t get anything past him, he always knew when I was upset about something, and normally well aware what I was upset about, since more often than not HE’D been the cause, somehow. I found that trait of his rather annoying, I might add. Having someone who can read you like a book around all the time can be somewhat akin to living with your Mother at 40. Two women in the same house, especially if those women are of a similar mindset, can be a disaster.
Tim and I worked through it though, and I learned to try to be more open and honest about the things that are bothering me. I mean, right or wrong, these things nag and worry your poor spirit to death. I believe, as Tim did (which, again, surprises me) that saying what is on your mind is better than letting the shite wear you down. Overtime I’ve learned one can temper what one says though, perhaps, not be quite as direct as Tim. Ahem.
So, as I weed through ALL OF IT, and as I piece by piece, weed through the contents of my gunny sac, I choose between KEEP or THROW-A-WAY.
ALL of the things on this page represent some of the keepers.