The clock goes tick, tock, tick, tock, and the mechanical echoing of the male Cardinal awakens the dawn light. It is morning again, Saturday morning to be exact, and this weekend is May 24.
Drinking copious amounts of alcohol for some, a big gardening weekend for others. Guess you and I Mom would fall into some a both categories, eh? Perhaps not COPIOUS amounts, but certainly some consuming of, for sure, at some point or other.
Last eve for me though was a quiet one. No copious amounts of alcohol.
Went over to D3’s for dinner, but he had an unexpected guest show up. Been a tough week for him, as he had a friend die. I won’t say who, but this guy played harmonica for a well-known Canadian band. He at some point though in the last few years sunk into the junkie world, and thus found he only saw his friend when he was desperate to score; so he cut ties with him and shut him out of his world. He’s grieving, and going from anger to sadness, minutes apart.
I stayed up late with him the night he found out, even though I had to work early in the morning. I drank beer with him, and he told me the stories he needed to tell.
So last eve when another of those friends showed up at his door, I could see he needed to have a conversation with this guy. I admire his compassion, as this guy became homeless a couple years ago, and lives solely on the proceeds of other people’s metal scrap. He lives out of his truck. But enough is enough, and D3 was getting flack from the neighbours about the crap this guy dumps off at his place. OR shows up at 7 am to use his driveway to break up the metal to fit better in the flatbed of his truck.
You know Mom, these addicts, they have this incredible sense of entitlement. They think nothing of invading your space, showing up at the door at all hours, expectant, and greedy for the compassion they know you possess. Even if at one time they loved you, they fall into this pit of despair, and begin to use all the things they once loved as if they were merely foddered to feed the beast. And in time, these compassionate souls are forced to make a hard choice – self-preservation, or continue to be used.
It puts one in a difficult place. I feel for him now, after just losing one of these long ago friends to the needle and the damage done (Neil Young song), he now has to begin the hard task of pushing away another friend from his life.
These people are remnants of the musical life he led once. I’m not sure Mom exactly why he stopped. He still plays that Mandolin or guitar, but only to a private audience. He shared with me the song he’s playing at his friends funeral, and he was beautiful with honesty.
I love watching him when he plays – he transforms.
So last night I knew he didn’t want me there. I admire him you know Mom, I think he’s possibly one of those “good ones”. We’ll see, I’m still a bit gun shy after Tim, and all his lies – I’m still waiting for that other shoe to drop.
So I left D3’s, came home, and was in bed by 10. Fast asleep.
However, I too had an unexpected guest.
As I was leaving my stoop last night, Irish in the toe, on our way to D3’s for din din, well didn’t I run into Mystery.texter guy…let’s call him FRED. Well, Fred and I chatted, and as I was strolling away through the parking lot, well out from the bank pops another of Mr.Blue.Eyes buddies…lets call him Dave. Well, Dave and I actually knew each other from Dodge, so it was quite a surprise when he showed up that first-time last summer at Mr.Blue.Eyes.
Guess they were off to Mr.Blue.Eyes place to consume their May 24 prescribed copious amounts of beer, so I waved and that was that.
Or so I thought.
I woke up last night at around 2 am, why I have no idea. So I got up, had a smoke, and grabbed my laptop to watch a doc. I for some reason was WIDE awake, and lying there snoozing off to some delicious narration of some archaeological dig is my fav way to drift off, dreaming of my fantasy life as an archaeologist myself. So 2:30 rolls around, and I hear KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK…pop my head up and see glasses and dark hair. D3?
Nope…it’s Dave. I open the door, and Dave has no pants on.
I know, I know, how exciting is that? Now, I ask you, how often do half naked guys show up at your door in the middle of the night? Very exciting. NOT.
Ok, so I know it’s odd, but Dave likes to do this when he gets drunk and stoned, he apparently has this need to walk around naked. Dear god, how do these people find me?
Well, they do, and I had one at my door. He’s completely harmless, I’ve known him since High School. You know them, Mom, they lived over across the river in the new subdivision behind the arena. I guess Dave would get smashed at Hockey parties, and after the kids went to bed, well off would come the clothes, and Dave spent the rest of the night naked.
And he wonders why he’s divorced. His friends think he’s gay. I, personally, think he’s Bipolar. Well, no, actually, I know he’s Bipolar.
Ok, so I let him in, as I guess he and Mr.Blue.Eyes got into it, and Dave decided to bicycle off through the village sans his pants. He gets to the heart here, at the crossroads, and sees the Brinks truck coming into the bank parking lot, and something in his addled brain panicked (finally), and knock knock knock at compassionate Paula’s door.
D3 and I have a lot in common, as we both attract the damaged, the lonely, and the needy.
As dear old Dave was settling in, poking around, admiring all the “Dodge” (as he called my antiques and memorabilia) around my abode. And Irish gave him her usual greeting, of course, and then spent the whole time either trying to hump him more or laying at his feet in blond bliss, as he scratched and attended to her every doggy desire. He kept saying “I didn’t know you had a dog”.
Yup, Dave, I have a dog.
Strange you know Mom, I rarely brought Irish with me when I went to Mr.Blue.Eyes and he liked dogs. Yet, D3, who is somewhat negative towards them, has told me to bring her. I don’t always, but normally I do, as it gives her a walk and after being holed up here all day it’s nice to get out.
Well, so that was my evening. Perhaps the rest of the weekend will bring less of the lost, and more of our own private inebriation around a campfire.
All my gardening was done two weekends ago, and now I just have a couple little spots to fill in, before I tackle perhaps the rest of the grounds. I want to put in some more herbs out front in the raised bed I believe. I might go down to the garden centre today here in the village, poke around, see what they have.
I mentioned this idea of landscaping the house to the landlord, and he was game, so I’m going to email him this weekend with some ideas, and see what he says. I want to create a very low maintenance design, simple, using repetition, and sweeps of Ferns, Hosta’s, perhaps a few sedges, a spot of tall grass’ here and there, and spots of colour, but mostly textual and leafy. I think those tones will suit the blond colour of the brick on this old turn of the century farmhouse.
D3’s working on a fence I believe today, a job he’s doing for an old landlord, so I won’t see him I imagine till late afternoon, or so. I’m going to venture back today at some point (I hope) to that old Orchard I posted on yesterday, I’m hoping I haven’t missed the blooms. Yet, I see out my window here, and the sky is looking dark, and I do believe rain maybe on its way today. Rats. Tomorrow perhaps.
If I’ve learned anything I suppose these last couple days, it’s that us compassionate sorts, we are always working on that middle way. A way between our own needs, and those of the lost souls we attract along the way. We weave our way, and as the Buddha, we have to find our own way through, and beyond, our sorrow, and the sorrow of others. Find a way to both encourage and help, while still maintaining the things that give us joy, as these lost souls can be very draining. It’s easy to slip down into their grief or try to lift some of the burdens from them. But you can’t.
So that’s the rub, eh? Try as you might, you can never lift all of the burden another carries; at some point, they must do the rest on their own, for fear of being swept up into their personal sorrows, or become merely their enabler.
Miss you Mom, and often wish you were here still to really talk to you. Lulu (MsLexi), sent me this link sometime late last eve. She must be psychic as this song so captures this week, and how I’ve felt. The most wonderful thing, as about the time I was watching Dave make is way back through my hedge (fully clothed), wobbling away back to Mr.Blue.Eyes to find where he put his shoes, ol’LuLu was posting this video to me.
Her message was I Love You!!! Paula…Poophead LOL…it made me smile. Bet those are words you never thought you’d hear from one of our lips to the other, eh? Well, endearment to us. Things do change as you grow older, watch those you love die, you change. We’ve grown close you know Mom. A good example for your Granddaughters to see.
So here’s the vid she sent… By Coldplay.
And, I just let Irish in and it’s raining, so no orchard this morn. We’ll have to spend the day cuddling, playing with squeak and venturing forth when it relents. Slowing it down. :-)