The Weft And Warp Of The Weave

How do they find me? I kept meaning to mention this to you Mom, but what with all the other shite this week I suppose this little nugget got lost at the wayside.

For some reason I was reminded just now as I sat out on the stoop, coffee in hand, listening to some loud rap music on the car stereo parked next door at the bank. Why on earth that reminded me, I have not a clue. Perhaps it was the dichotomy, the contrast of this weekend from last?

Perhaps its just the randomness. On that rare occasion when something draws me out the door, my sessions on the stoop have no particular schedule; certainly not since my body has determined I need to get up at 3AM. I am no longer interested in policing myself, so I’ve let my body do what it feels is best – I find I am happier when I am relieved of those sorts of fiddly details. So up it has me the last couple morns very early, and I guess this morning I needed the solitude of this witching hour, again.

Quiet, but for the occasional late-night car, swirling in off the quiet streets to grab some cash. Some see me there on my stoop, but most don’t. I am invisible, hidden away within my secret nook in behind the half dead cedars.

Two Piece BandAnywho… so a week ago, Friday Night, ventured over across the way for a pint, live music and to be amongst a crowd, and it felt good since I hadn’t been out in close to a month. Ugh, me becomes a lugubrious sad sack, dying on the vein from lack of nourishment, a lack of diversity, a lack of random interactions for which to keep for later.

The reality is that most are not even aware of the fact you’re on your own {or perhaps care half as much as I seemed to} and it is surprising how many are now doing the solo flight thingy. Certainly far less women than men, but even so, if you can find the right place it tis rather wonderful to venture forth on ones own, leaving when one wants, standing where one wants. Later on, as the music and the libations shake loose my inebriations, and I go hunting for whomever is willing to leap onto the floor and dance a gig.

My initial entrance is always the same, and after I have settled into a spot, after I’ve sat a spell soaking in those present, eventually someone either to my left or right will strike up a conversation. From than on its smooth sailing, as with each random bit of exchange, the courage inside is ignited, and I am free of the anxiety of my too conscious mind. For days, random pieces of the night, bits of conversations, snatches of dialogue, intriguing faces, and the multitude out there who just seem to lack social graces, will inspire me.

Barstool BusinessI’ve realized too that business is often more successfully conducted upon a bar stool, then a boardroom chair. So these exchanges I believe in the future can be conducted much more effectively then in the past.

Ok, so my point Mom, and yes I am getting to it, the point was the last individual I spoke to last Friday night that for some reason that random and loud rap music, for what I reason I do not even now know, but it reminded me of this fellow.

It was of course the one who seemed to just materialize as I made my way back from a leap around the dance floor to some delicious oldie but goodie the band had played. And don’t you know, as somehow we struck up a conversation, and somehow, and naturally so, he told me that his Mom is dying, and has been for over a year.

Apparently I’ve become a guiding light for some. I told him how it was, and how regardless of the relationship during life, regardless of your regrets, your grief, your anger, you’ll miss her everyday, in some way or another, every day. Even now, as she creeps towards that eventual end, you miss her even now. And yes, I reassured him, I told him that by finding me chances are her time was nye.

I told him the truth of it Mom. How while she is still on this side, don’t fear she will sneak off in the night. I let him know how even as everything else seemed out of control, that I know Mom you held on till you knew Dad was going to be OK. I told this random son that his Mom won’t leave him until she is damn good and ready to…and from the sounds of it, as from what he said of her, she seems to be the sort that will want an audience. When we parted he asked for my number, and I accidentally on purpose gave it to him wrong. I thought it was wrong, but I couldn’t be bothered, as I knew he wouldn’t call – he wouldn’t need to.

four-cornersIt is that certain, seemingly random soul, not lost, but those seeking answers, or a reassurance, maybe a hug, a smile, a tear of solidarity. Seeking to know that, YES, their crazy notions are on point, and their spirits are lightened of that creeping uncertainty. Maybe that’s it eh? I’m the “yes Virginia there is a St Nick” sort?

Well, so there you go. Sitting here on the stoop, looking up at the fading stars, here situated on this four corners, I am exactly where I need to be.

Always,

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One thought on “The Weft And Warp Of The Weave

  1. There is poetry in your words. Tragedy crystallized into wondrous patterns of hope and sadness. Reality meets want. Need entangled with truth. Random encounters of two ships passing in the night – and by their individual lights lending hope to each other that safe passage is ahead.

    Like

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