Friday, January 31, 2014

Coy - Part Twenty-Three - "Old New England Traits" - (C) - Surrender


Coy

Part Twenty-Three

"Old New England Traits"

(C)

Surrender

            When Helen said...:  “REALLY?  You SAY that?”... the Savage mansion; the ‘under the shroud’ Savage mansion... ‘ended’.
            I ‘ended’.  I surrendered... the Savage mansion contents to... the ‘new’ New England; the New England right side up; the congested New England.  Falling back and fading away failed?  The Savage mansion was over run?  Instead of being ‘beyond’; within the protected border fort line of old New England resisting the blanket (quilt) of congestion... the Savage mansion was ‘abandoned to the enemy’?  By me; by my conscious choice?
Helen’s response to my declaration of “THIS IS WORTH A FORTUNE.  IN HERE.  Just as it is.” WAS exactly the response I sought from my utterance.  I ...in rout and panic (?) retreat from a position of falling back and fading away... released a ‘that special arrow’ pulled hurriedly from my antiquarian quiver and... shot at Helen... in her white SUV.  I hit her square in her chrome front grill with that special arrow.  That special arrow almost always kills almost everything every time.  It is the ‘how much is it worth’ arrow.
Helen was down and flopping before me; on the floor of the dark library.  NOISES I associate with people having just purchased a new car gurgled from her.  Writhing... turned her summer dress into faux seamed white PLASTIC upholstery.  Navigation equipment announced that she was recalculating.  Dual exhaust fumes filled the room with ‘no air’.
            I watched.
            Then...
            I said... to her spastic form... “Go to Hell’.
            FROM NOW ON
            It is I... who falls back and fades away.
             It is I... who says ‘Go to Hell”
            AS I
            Mechanically execute the complete – full – in-every-detail-a-done-deal-covered SYSTEMANTIC rummaging, ransacking, looting, carrying off AND “had the dislocation of the one and the tatters of the other repaired”***.  (Oh yes; every THING is... ‘fixed’).
            In chapter six (D); the chapter that introduces congestion in New England, congestion’s influential power, the white SUV as congestion’s headless horseman and, too, the fall back and fade away tactic, I wrote:

            “I also understood that ...although taking a considerable amount of time to accomplish... the destiny of the Savage estate was to ‘fall back and then fade away”.... into the forests of (Northern) New England... Confronted by congestion... New England... is... ‘falling back and fading away’.  Should one know this it is best to not ‘forget’ it.  “Not knowing of” is the pervasive and dominant ... ‘whatchamacallit’.

            I also wrote:

            “This state of congestion... is the force that eases ‘forgetting’ and camouflages ‘not knowing about’.  It is the paved parking lot of New England with the rest being... ‘run off’.”

            When I surrendered the Savage Estate... to New England right side up; the congestion... in order to save myself (?) ...by ‘Go to Hell’ falling back and fading away... do I understand that it (the Savage estate) becomes... run off... from the paved parking lot of congestion... ‘that eases... and camouflages’?
            Yes I do and that only enhances my hiss of “Go to Hell”.
            What does that mean?  It means that:
            Yes I did... and still do... ‘mechanically execute’ the Savage Estate.
            What does THAT mean?

            It is, pleasingly, a complex ‘spirit rope tied back upon... and often woven into... itself’... for... just... I.
            Alone... like a janitor at an old ...sanatorium... for the nervous nerves of... New England right side uppers... I
            Fill my truck with... run off... from the Savage Mansion and...
            Sell it
            smug-quick and quiet hand ...ed ...ly
            At a flea market
            “No questions asked”
            As... the nervous nerves EXPECT of me.

            Also that:
            I... equivocate... to expostulate... among those who pontificate
            The “vision”, the “direction”, the “transcending history” and the “administration”
            Of the Savage mansion
            “As it is today”.
            ( “ ” From it’s ‘Annual Report’)

            But... here and now:
            I... was forty seconds past Helen’s “REALLY... You SAY that?”:  Her ‘accepts the terms’... of my surrender.  I was staring off and upward toward the front outer corner of the room’s book shelves, past the secretary... but not capturing the shroud covered looking glass in my view.  (I am) “Dressed like Eileen Fisher.” I said.
            “SHE’S NOT COMING BACK HERE.” Helen said.
            Helen’s “Eileen Fisher” does not have to come back.  She is here.
            “It makes this so much easier... to do this... when I dress like Eileen Fisher.”
            I say
            To this day.


*** Melville, “The Apple Tree Table”.  See Part Six (C)

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Coy - Part Twenty-Three - "Old New England Traits" - (B) - "Placed"


Coy

Part Twenty-Three

"Old New England Traits"

(B)

"Placed"

            A judgment?
            Of I.
            By One John?  I did not lift the cloth (shroud) covering the mirror ‘to see’.
EVER.
I know better; I know to ‘not do that’.  It is a dragon.
            THERE IS A DRAGON.
            The lawn tractor is still running; it is ‘on’.
            Pry bars?  THERE ARE TWO OF THEM?  ‘At hand’.  “READY”?
            Seconds tick
            By.
            STANDING THERE ‘before’
            One John’s FACE behind a SHROUD upon a
            Mirror?
            I WANDER
            For two more seconds.
            HELEN MOVES
            To be before the old shroud upon the old ...looking glass
            AND LIFTS THE SHROUD
            AND SCREAMS
            AND DROPS THE SHROUD
            Back down it falls
            Covering
            One John’s face?
            I “YOU SAW HIM?”
            “NO!
            “Just MY face”
            “HA, Ha, ha ...HA”
            “THAT’S UGLY ENOUGH.  I’m GETTING my COFFEE.”
            Says Helen.
            And she’s gone.
            I look at the shroud covered looking glass.  It is a looking glass. It is a clunky, dark wood... with darkened old finish, awkward form; a ...decadent-in-design descendent of the earlier gilt gold Federal or Sheraton looking glasses... THAT IS absolutely proper and correct to find HANGING right exactly where it is in this estate.  EXACTLY, exactly, exactly.
            Except for the shroud
            That hides... the dragon’s face.
            He cannot watch me?
            HE CANNOT WATCH ME
            “GO TO HELL” the room is still screaming.
            I shut off the lawn tractor... in my mind.
            I... put the pry bars outside the door; leaning up in the hallway?
            In my mind.
            I... hear Helen coming back.
            Then she’s back;
            Through the doorway
            With her coffee.
            “She doesn’t hear the screaming?”
            The screaming HAS STOPPED.
            The room is a memorial
            ‘Placed’
            Cased in cement?
            So it cannot be carried off?
            WHO PLACED IT?
            It doesn’t matter.
            In chapters six [B] AND [C] I bring to ...I... and the reader by THEIR reading discretion... my sense of notice of ...memorials placed to oneself ...by oneself and the subsequent ‘pitched’, ‘turned up side down’... but... ‘still there’... OF THOSE ‘memorial placed’ and, again, MY SENSE OF NOTICE of... ‘placed’.  I, here, in the daylight glow from the edges of the windows’ drapes SENSE OF NOTICE a PLACED... and a PLACED... MEMORIAL to a dragon of self with that SELF, too, PLACED... as a shroud-covering-looking glass ‘memorial’.  TOO.
            I ‘just feel it’:
            This old room.
            Is a garret
            Is an... old trunk locked
            With its old key lost
            Cased in a cement
            To protect it from
            Being carried off.

            I am a mouse.
            Helen is a mouse.
            We have gnawed
            A hole (whole).
            We are very tiny.
            But we destroy
            As we gnaw.
            We can
            Carry off.
            Too.
            “We need to PAY ATTENTION to this room right away.” I say to Helen’s back.  She is looking toward the outside wall’s rear corner and holding her coffee cup out from her left side, in mid air.
            “I KNOW THAT but WHERE am I going to PUT ALL OF THIS” she says.
            “PUT THIS?” I say.
            “CLEAN IT OUT,”
            “No!”
            “WHAT?  THIS MESS...:  It’s STACKED... FIRE... WOOD.”
            “I... no... DO NOT see it THAT WAY.  DON’T CLEAN IT.  ... Don’t TOUCH IT I say... AM SAYING.”
            “WELL YOU’RE THE FIRST ONE.”
            “First one?”
            “To NOT want it CLEANED OUT.”
            “I am?  There are OTHERS in here?”
            “NOT LIKE YOU but THEY ALL have ADVISED ME.”
            “Advised you?”
            “It really would be a VERY NICE ROOM once I CLEAN IT OUT.”
            “I...” hear myself say while my inner-inner mind recites “rummage, ransack, loot, carry off” and then... too... “had the dislocation of the one and the tatters of the other repaired”***.  I hear myself... saying nothing as I scramble to verbally create a ‘coy fa├žade of fabricated myth’ that somehow says:

            “It is a spirit rope tied back upon... and often woven into... itself. One will find all this clear when one is actually IN that true New England attic.  Otherwise this spirit remains ‘beyond the reach’ of one’s finger tips.  It is not found in an old New England attic that has been... turned up side down.” (Part Six [C])

            I AM IN THE (Savage mansion) ATTIC.
            I am a mouse in an old trunk... with its lid perished.  “Packed full of mildewed old documents”****
            THE WHOLE SAVAGE ESTATE IS the attic.
            “How do I?”
            SAY
            “THIS IS WORTH A FORTUNE.  IN HERE.  Just as it is.”
            Helen turns and looks at me... still holding her coffee cup off to her left in mid air
“REALLY?  You SAY that?”


*** Melville, “The Apple Tree Table”.  See Part Six (C).
**** Melville, “The Apple Tree Table”.  See Part Six (C) again.  

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Coy - Part Twenty-Three - "Old New England Traits" - (A) - “A Ridiculous Judgment”


Coy

Part Twenty-Three

"Old New England Traits"

(A)

“A Ridiculous Judgment”

            The door did stick.  Then opened inward.  Then stuck again... against something stopping its ‘opening’ progress from behind this door.  It opened enough so that “We can get in.”  Said Helen.
            Because the hall outside the open door was dark and enclosed... I’d already ‘adapted to conditions’.  This was enhanced by my personal ‘in my element’ state... I’d switched on (‘become’).
            WHO CARES if it is a ‘perfect’ mid October day outside; high, dry pressure of rolling puffy clouds ranging across deep blue sky with falling leaf swirls in mid air and leaf scurry racing under foot across the ...driveway ...leading to the front steps... of the Savage Mansion.
            WHO CARES when it is I who rides the lawn tractor INTO a locked, dark, silent, still and ‘never’ ‘seen’... by ANY... ‘one’... “OUTSIDE OF THE FAMILY THAT I KNOW OF”.  Said Helen... WHILE Helen goes before me and pries up the gravestones BLOCKING the lawn tractor... and pitches them ‘into the sea’.  Or... is it I before HER with SHE on the lawn tractor ‘so we can get it (the lawn tractor) in’ and I ...the ‘pry up’ the gravestones and ‘pitch them’ into the sea? (Part Six [A])
            Is it THAT?  WE are DESTROYING something... by Helen turning the old key in the old door lock and pushing her bare feet and clothed-in-her-still “I KNOW SUMMERS OVER BUT I DON’T CARE” floral dress... against the door.  Helen is ahead of me?  SO I AM riding the lawn tractor?  Or do I come to her aid from behind when SHE riding the lawn tractor must stop because “HERE’S ANOTHER ONE”.  I step forward and slam my steel pry bar deep into the soft sand soil and push DOWN so that my leverage point PUSHES UP to... “DO THEY just POP FREE?”
            “DAMN THEY DO!” of another one that with my work gloves on and tossing the bar to the side I ROLL... the gravestone INTO... the... SEA (shore) ‘below’.
            “GOOD ENOUGH.” said Helen when I volunteered by action to ‘move’ ‘whatever it is’ ‘back’ “FROM BLOCKING THE DOOR”.
            I said.
            Realizing
            TOO LATE
            THAT I
            HAD (just) DESTROYED
            “That is a ridiculous judgment”:  Did I forget or did I not know?***
            “The continent of North America?” I hear myself say out loud as my head goes upward to see the dark ceiling and its walled room cornered edges ...lining the wall tops with bookcases... “FULL” of... ‘old books’.  Helen is ahead of me to one of two windows draped SHUT with only a four inch BLINDING radiant glow outlining the darkest green rolling-ton-of-fabric velvet (?) BLOCKING ‘out anything’ “THE WINDOWS DON’T OPEN”.  Helen says but... starts to endeavor to pull to a side that window’s drape.
            “NO.” I command and startle myself... “Just leave it.  Dark.  Now.” I recover.
            I recover.
            I did just almost drive the lawn tractor into the sea at the edge of the continent of North America to NEVER RECOVER
            It?
            I?
            “The room?”
            to it’s ‘was’.
“Again?”
            OH WAS THAT A CLOSE ONE.
            All of this roaring mind swirl juxtaposition of our entrance to ‘the room’ is from chapter six [A] where I had stood to see first hand ‘a pitch’.  Of gravestones... into the sea... at the edge of the continent... of North America.  I HEAR THIS ‘the room’ HISSING NOW:  “GO TO HELL”.
            But I stopped before I got there (Hell).
            I stopped before I ‘did that’.  Helen stopped before she let any more light in.  We stood for four seconds maybe in the only air in that room.  The only light in that room.  The only noise in that room.
            WAS NO NOISE AT ALL.
            I could ‘see’ now.  Everything.  In the dark.”
            “THIS IS SORT OF...” began Helen “THE LIBRARY and the OFFICE.  WELL IT WAS ONCE BUT I DON’T USE IT EVER.  I never come in HERE EXCEPT like THIS.”
            “I can see that.” I said ineffectively.  I think I said that.  I may just have thought that.  I was roving the dark.  I ... “let me move that (“It’s a desk; a lady’s writing desk”) back where it was. I...” am saying.
            “THAT IS ALWAYS BLOCKING.  IF YOU MOVE IT... it BLOCKS SOMETHING ELSE.”
            Behind this lady’s letter desk was another desk.  This desk pushed back against a third desk.  That desk is actually an oversized Empire style ...glass door topped... ‘secretary’... that is fitted against the wall.  That wall is full lined with bookcases... full of ... ‘old books’... as are all the other walls.  The secretary blocks the old books on the shelves from view where it was ‘pushed back against them’.  The other walls of bookcases had ...either small book cases, small tables or other desks... of some sort... pushed against them... too.  The room’s wall against the outside of the mansion, with the two draped windows glowing in outline, had book shelves on each side and in the center between the windows.  Small ‘stands’ (little tables with one drawer) were ...fitted... against them.  At the center shelf... two thirds of the way ‘up’ to ‘the ceiling’ I... notice... “A MIRROR”?
            “With a cloth over it?”
            “A mourning shroud?”
            “NO.  NOT POSSIBLE” I said all out loud to myself.  “THAT is TOO OLD; 18th century.”
            “THAT IS.”  I hear Helen saying for she HAD FOLLOWED my gaze... “COVERED... from when ONE JOHN DIED.  THEY SAID they could SEE HIS FACE in THAT MIRROR.  So they COVERED IT.  IT’S ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THAT.”
            “A mourning shroud?” I hear myself say.
            “NO.  They left his body in here OVERNIGHT before BURIAL.  IN THIS ROOM.  WELL... ONE OF THEM:  They said they SAW HIS FACE in THAT mirror LOOKING AT THEM.  SO... that’s WHY they covered IT.  I KNOW they used to DO THAT.  It’s always been covered.  It’s a RIDICULOUS.”
            Judgment?


***  From Part Six (A):  “In one’s thoughts of New England, it is a ridiculous judgment for one to forget this.  Or not know of this.  Those that have the privilege of ‘forgetting’ are a much smaller group than those who... ‘not know of this’.”

Monday, January 27, 2014

Coy - Part Twenty-Two - "Good Fortune - Bad Taste"


Coy

Part Twenty-Two

"Good Fortune - Bad Taste"


            In the fourth chapter... and I do not like writing in this format... the end of the tale is first introduced.  Helen presents the characters “Daddy”, “Mama”, “Aunt Winnie” and Helen’s children.  She continues by including these ‘family’ as determining her views of good and bad taste within the Savage estate.
Exposing Aunt Winnie through photographic portrait, Helen spikes home the inter-estate good and bad taste determinants through a very cavalier sale to me of a Steuben Glass olive dish.  Few antiquarian dealers will ever ...share... a similar purchase format so it should NOT be a ‘down played’ sequence of action.  This sequence is founded on the notion ...by Helen... of ‘who cares’ (Parts Fourteen [A-B]).  Here is that wording’s first appearance in this tale.  It’s usage appears through Helen’s observations of taste and aesthetic comprehension by her children... who have purchased Helen a ...cell phone.  Helen also tags the ‘her bank’ as a mustered-into-action ‘who cares’. They care about the estate’s content?  Or it’s asset value?  Throughout this ...actually deep within the wholeness of the Savage Estate... action packed... and seemingly flippant ‘she’s driving’* ...estate management hubbub... I scramble with folded twenty dollar bills and the purpose-of-visit (role) as being to ‘suggest’.
            Actually... what this chapter is... IS the ‘pitched’ and ‘turned up side down’ of the Savage estate... already in progress.
            Is Aunt Winnie a culprit?  She and her shopping?
            Are Helen’s children doing something OTHER than acting out their own historical destiny within the estate?
            Is there an inkling ...by Helen... of there being ‘something more’ to this ...houseful of old dead peoples’ stuff layered in room... after room?
            When I did eventually ‘get into’ Aunt Winnie’s room... I found a room that was... AT THE BOTTOM LAYER... “just as” Aunt Winnie had ‘left it’, ‘kept it’ and had WANTED IT TO BE... inclusive of having NO PREVIOUS Savage family ANYTHING in that room... because, evidently, SHE took ‘any of that’ OUT.  Between the time of her death and my admittance into her room... the room had become... a three (?) generation STORAGE ROOM ‘layered’... in three (?) generations UPON Aunt Winnie’s ‘stuff’ ‘undisturbed’.  THAT status, alone... to I... qualified the room as ‘time capsule’ status within the Savage estate EVEN THOUGH THAT ROOM’S CONTENTS... ‘isn’t really that old’.



            Do I ‘suggest’ this?  To anyone?
            Does anyone ever... ‘who cares’?
            And again...:  Is Aunt Winnie... and the ‘her room’... therefore... a culprit?
            In the ‘pitching’ and ‘turning up side down... of
            JUST WHAT?
            The fifth chapter answers these queries.  Helen tells... rather well... her family saga; the story of the Savage fortune.  If one remembers that saga told clearly, then fine.  If not... one should review it.  I make here and now two additions to the saga.  Helen, at the time of her pontification, included the curt (and obviously recited from oral history memory) utterance that “THE SAVAGES... WERE ALL... temperance men and abolitionists”.  And:  “They TOLERATED church going”.  Curt, breezy and short this recital...; it is NOT primary to the Savage fortune saga.  It means... roughly... One John and family believed and supported ‘temperance’ but...  drank whenever they felt like it including that the current heir (Helen) “does too”.  It means that they were against slavery and for freedom of the black man but... had maybe seen a half dozen black men in Maine over a forty year period, probably never talked to one, had never seen a slave... except perhaps off in the ‘safe’ distance ‘on shore’ from the deck of a boat ‘once’ ‘when’ they ‘were younger’.  Helen’s ‘a black man’ actual contact heritage / history follows this course including ‘safe distance’ in her own exotic harbors (Florida).  “Tolerated church going” means they never went to church ever and any contact with a ‘church man’ was on the equality of an eye for an eye with this well understood by both parties.  Helen... ‘follows family’.
What this addition means... combined with the Savage fortune saga... is that... culturally, intellectually, artistically, philanthropically, philosophically and... et al... the Savage estate is... ‘probably’ ‘dry’ from
            MY VANTAGE
            As an antiquarian and rare book man.
            WE... will ‘see’ won’t we.
This tale is about the
            ESTATE.


ON THE OTHER HAND... and one may actually look at one’s hands... the hand with ‘this’ (the ‘dry’) is OFF SET FULLY, fundamentally and fabulously by Helen’s expressed clear understanding that “THIS IS REAL”.  This is my second addition to the Savage saga.  The Savage estate ‘cannot be faked’ or purchased as decor.  And this is again spiked home with Helen’s “It’s over”.  Helen, because she actually LIVES (she is still alive) THIS... she fully understands ...although currently as the tale is being told... has yet to articulate or act on it...; that ‘this’ (the Savage estate in total) is not about money and ‘antiques’ (‘the THINGS we have’).  In the “vicious swipe of the dragon’s tail” (Part One)... of this tale... the Savage estate IS a dragon.
            It is... ‘old New England traits.
            This includes the ‘old New England’ word; ‘dry’.
            ‘Dry’ is ‘pitched’ by Aunt Winnie... way back when.  Or was that seed bed planted earlier... as an inner family dynamic that Aunt Winnie is the first to act out?.  Too much money and too little culture resulted in ...bad taste... at the expense of ‘old New England traits...  These old traits... were suppressed behind closed, locked, dark, Victorian drape dropped rooms that dominate the interior of the estate.  Their suppression was supported by the modern taste makeover of the personal space; the ‘their room’, of the younger Savage generations.  This was made possible with ‘money’.  That made ‘shopping’ possible.  Space, throughout the estate, allowed for the old new England traits to be ‘put somewhere’... even if it was in a mound along the floor under a table in a room that one walked through ‘all day long.’  In the Savage estate... an object put down in a room by one generation... most often remained there ...until I handled it.  This included later generation objects and ‘bad taste’ objects.  Modern ‘bad taste’ contributed at least a quarter and possibly a third to the contents of the first floor of ‘the mansion’. And again, this ‘modern bad taste’ was set down upon – on top of - the earlier objects that TOO, were ‘set down’.
            That is quite a few chapters ahead (Part Seventeen) of this; my current counting of chapters on my fingers in review...:  I am in that February barn where I ...pontificate... on
            The:


“I study... The Enigma.
            “As one ages, one confronts a new enigma.  ‘Setting’... ‘there’ ‘so it will not get lost’... turns to enigma for one ...aging... as...:  “Does ‘it’ ever become something OTHER than a ‘never getting it... again’?”.  Old barns... especially the very old barns... are the repositories of this enigma’s ‘turned out to be’.  They are ...wholly... a keeping ground of that enigma; the ‘setting there’ and the ...never getting it again.  The scathing real of this enigma only becomes to one with self experience... as one, oneself, finds oneself... the ‘setting there’ and ‘...never getting it again’ of one’s own life.  The old New England barn is the keeper of this ...generation after generation... embraced and expressed... enigma.”



            At the end of this... (Part [D] of Part Eighteen [A-D]) chapter SET ... within the February barn...I ...noticing an old Coke machine and its ‘setting down’ or ‘pitched’ within the barn ...and that notice is found within the tale’s telling of... incursions upon the this; the ...‘it’ of the Coke machine and the... ‘it’ of the barn, the ‘I’ in the barn, the ‘them’ in the barn and... the barn as a ‘big box’ whole of ‘setting down’ and ‘never getting’:
            “....The old New England Coke machine... in the old New England barn... is nothing at all but a vanity; an ornament, by itself.  Found mired in old New England humanity... with humility... inside an old New England barn door... it is a precious blossom of classic (and rare survival) New England; a pure strain ‘unspoken’.  It is ‘a desperate need’ to ‘notice this’
            I continue:





            “...RIGHT HERE I do also say that this tale ‘reaches bottom’; I AM at the dark, cold spot within I NEED TO BE AT. ....  I am turned back into the Savage estate... WITH NEW UNDERSTANDING that what was formerly ‘pitched’ and turned up side down New England has been PROVEN to be ... in fact... New England right side up (Part Six [A]).  This, too, means I am not done with congested New England and their white SUV’s (Part Six [D]) or Helen’s BLUNT verbiage of “THEY SENT ELIEEN FISHER UP HERE TO APPRAISE ME!”.  I have the tools at hand to save the Savage estate?  But:




            Is this ‘dull’?
            To one?
            Dull... is different from ‘dry’.  Dull is it to one IF one is IN their white SUV... driving right on my rear bumper...; chasing I... with their bad taste of congested New England?  “JUST ‘clean’ the place out and be done with it”.
            “Let us know if you find something good”.
            “How much is that worth?”
            One asks.
            Then... that being so; that there IS NO POT OF GOLD... PASS ME
            On the first open space of road ...with one’s premium acceleration of BAD TASTE... so that I may with a fleeting second... SEE
            One’s local (license) plate number, one’s landfill access sticker.  One registration expiring... at the EXACT same rate as one ‘distances’ me ‘in rearview’.
            And then I am alone again.
            And it is not dull.
            As I watch her hand turn the key that was in the door’s lock
            Of this door closed tight
            ‘kept locked’
            In a dark hallway closed at both ends’
            “SHOWING YOU THIS ROOM TODAY”
            “BECAUSE I THINK I’D BETTER”
            Helen said to me as she
            Turns the old key
            In the old lock
            In the dark.
            “The door STICKS TOO.” she said.






* Part Six [D] where the context of that wording’s first introduction appears as the ‘congested New England’ white SUV driver driving as a... destroyer of... old New England

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Coy - Part Twenty-One - "Go to Hell"


Coy

Part Twenty-One

"Go to Hell"


            OK... so... I have to start backing out of this tale... and that’s gonna take a while to... back out... to, THEN, get to the ‘end’.  Of the tale.  “To date”.  The back out problem is that, remarkably, everything I’ve tale told so far has DOES have something to do with the END of the tale.  There is a LOT that has been told and so... each iota comes into play and is... let me call it ‘carried’ as in CARRIED OFF.


            For example.  The historical society’s card catalog with the cards (Part Twenty)...:  I know the guy who bought it.  He’s a shrewd blue jean wearing ‘antiques dealer’.  He ‘third day’ ‘offered’ and ‘got it”.  With the cards in it.   (He’s) “Stupid”.  I said.
            He loaded ‘it’ and ‘it’ was gone.  Nobody cares?  (Remember that? Who Cares?  Parts Fourteen [A-B]).  So... a... TEN YEARS go by... and one day this... old, local, gentleman... patron goes into the historical society and asks to see ‘these letters’.
            “What letters”.
            So and so’s FAMILY letters.  “They donated.”
            “OH YES THOSE LETTERS.  WE HAVE THEM ALL SCANNED.  On to THE COMPUTER”.
            “I’m looking for these ones my uncle’s FATHER WROTE HIS SISTER”.
            “OH.  Well... there quite a few LOTS of THOSE letters.  Would you know.  How.  You could FIND THOSE letters?”
            “Well...” the old local gentleman patron says... “When we donated the letters EACH BUNDLE was PUT INTO the collection and a CARD made for it.  On the back of the card MY UNCLE penciled in what letters were ‘to and from’ in each bundle.  Also what they’s was about.  We can just look at the back of those CARDS.”
            “Those cards?”
            “IN THE card CATALOG.”
            Pause.
            “WE... ah... don’t USE that anymore.  Everything’s (the old catalog cards) been SCANNED into THE COMPUTER. I... ah... GUESS we can look ...there.”
            “GOOD.”
            “Except that I don’t... recall that... we... scanned the BACK of ...any of the cards.
            MEANWHILE... the antiques dealer... had (within the ten year period) ‘finally’ SOLD the card catalog WITH the cards ‘in it’; “THEY’RE SO NEAT!” to “LOOK AT HUH”.  He sold it to a ...private party who uses it as ...interior decoration... in an... elevator lobby on HIS FLOOR of a skyscraper... in a LARGE U.S.A. city (that is bigger than Boston).  It’s ‘still there’ “OH YEAH IT’S STILL GOT SOME CARDS IN IT”.
            Have I ever visited ‘it’?





            Well... I do know it’s address.  So do others ‘now’.  It’s on the fifty first floor of a fifty ninth street.  The elevator doors open and... one is there; in an elevator lobby.  So is the card catalog.  It IS there.  With “SOME CARDS IN IT”.  Pretty cool field trip that was actually.
            Is... the historical society’s old card catalog... ‘pitched’ and ‘turned up side down’ but ‘still there’? (Part Six [A] and ever after).
            “Yes.”; I saw it.
            IS... the card catalog... with the old cards in it... old New England?
            “Yes.”


            What the state of the card catalog means is that ‘backing out’ of this tale... to get to the end of the tale ‘to date’... is going to have some ‘spots’ that ‘aren’t pretty’.  And... Susannah Johnson may be heard to hiss... “Go to Hell” (Part Six [D]).  JUST getting “Mr. Dump’s” Lincoln he parked in the middle of the historical society’s ‘meeting room’ table that day... OFF THAT TABLE... IS STILL GOIING ON... NOW.
            I don’t have to get “Mr. Dump’s” Lincoln off the historical society’s meeting table.  That’s not my problem.
            It’s the historical society’s problem.
            Among other “Mr. Dump” problems...?  The problems are mostly related to ‘tech gear’; the historical society’s evolution and usage... and ‘transfer-ing-to’ of... ‘old paper’ to “THAT” (‘tech gear’) (‘computers’).  The problems also includes what happens to the ‘old paper’ after it goes through ‘transfer-ing-to.  That, in the LAST half decade, for the historical society, has become a growing problem.  The boundary of the frontier of ‘that growing problem’ is the rising repeatedly problem that a piece of ‘old paper’ that was ‘transfer-ing-to’ (scanned) “cannot be found” “now” AND A “doesn’t know WHAT HAPPENED TO IT” after the ‘transfer-ing-to’ is... ‘it’.  I don’t know anything about any of this ...except what I just reported... for I ‘have enough’ ‘old paper’ all the time to NOT EVER NEED TO... EVER... ANYTHING... AT ALL with THEIR ‘old paper’.  Like I said... ‘it’s THEIR problem’.  The ‘Their’ does... seem to me to ...NOT BE fully “figured out yet” (not MY words).  I, professionally and privately... suspect that “THEIR.... PROBLEM” has MORE THERE in the “THEIR”.


            MY computer usage, to the relief of all of ...I include the reader... us... begins and ends at the FIRST CHAPTER where I note... as the tale begins... ‘my wife’s computer’ on the kitchen table.  THAT is the first usage notice of a computer in this tale.  THAT computer is a ‘current’ ‘tech gear’ grade computer and is... as it is... WAY AHEAD of the historical society’s fifteen years expedition ‘into that’.  Including “Mr. Dump”.  THIS is what I mean when I say “a LOT that has been told and ... each iota comes into play and is... let me call it ‘carried’ as in CARRIED OFF” in order to END this tale.  For example, Helen has a ‘cell phone’ when I meet her.  She has NEVER had or used a computer that I know of.  SHE DOES HAVE A SMART PHONE... RIGHT NOW.  So does my wife.  So do I.  This is my second smart phone.  I used the first one until it got smashed.  Then I bought another.  Today I take pictures with it and ...text them.  Fifteen years ago I was “IS THAT SOME SORT OF JOKE?”

            In the first chapter I relate my coming home from Helen’s with a truck load I bought from... one of the Savage Mansion’s sheds.  AND more plunder from Helen’s “dining room’.  But for thirty chapters after that and HERE now as I write... I have been confined to fifteen years ago and my exploration around about two thirds of a second room ‘I’m in’ and.... not buying truck loads of anything (I have bought some small things) AND then leaving AND ‘never hearing from her again’.  Obviously... I go back... to the Savage Mansion Estate and... “carry off” its contents?  Or just ‘scan it’ for the historical society?
            Or both?
            And more?


            In the second chapter and noticing Eileen Fisher and the who, what, where and I of that... I meet Helen...
And am told by her she is ... “crazy as a shit house rat”.  That’s not what Mr. Dump is.  I called HIM a ‘skunk’ (Part Twenty)  But... the skunk is very interested in ‘helping’ the shit house rat.  He likes that the rat describes herself as crazy.  That’s because he doesn’t know what a shit house rat is when it’s... crazy.  I do.  It’s “cunning”.  And it can be remarkably coy... and cute.
In this same chapter I am also introduced to Helen’s vantage of her lawyer and bank.  Their view...of her... to her vantage is... a financial grip on her ‘crazy as a shit house rat’.  This grip, ever after and to this day, proves to not be a ...firm... grip by any of these FIRMS.  THAT conveyance is introduced to me by Helen and her... management of ME... at this first meeting.  That ...conveyance... EXPANDS with her dexterous expel of “Eileen Fisher’, the first appraiser... who never ever goes away and is, as I write today... still operating her “Sea Lavender” store in the village... and... is used throughout all conversations of Helen and I as a ‘wrong direction’ fixed position that... Helen bounces ANY quandary she has about ‘this’ (the Savage Estate) ‘off’.  Although neither of us has even SEEN the poor woman in a decade and longer... she STILL remains an active ‘there’ “dressed in Eileen Fisher” just as she did on her only visit.  She is a symbol; symbolic.  I can now say that... and this is based on the thirty chapters following this second chapter... Helen perceives this first appraiser ‘expelled’ to be... the enemy.  That is; from Helen’s personal... turned professional over time... perception of HER (Helen’s) place in the POSITION of the Savage Estate, its contents and its mansion’s... PLACE ...in.... New England... the appraiser is ‘the wrong direction’ and... the enemy.


There are other ‘enemy’.  The bank-lawyer firms are standards.  Mr. Dump... works hard to become one.  The historical society... flutters like a butterfly about Helen and the Savage estate (in total) in a successful effort to become ‘the enemy’ that “I HAVE TO MANAGE THEM.  I UNDERSTAND THIS”.  Helen... declares.  Then there’s the mansion.  The contents... of objects in the mansion.  And out buildings.  And a ...historical archive of the Savage family...:  All ‘enemy’ that “I HAVE TO MANAGE THEM.  I UNDERSTAND THIS”.
“IS THIS A JOB?” she said to me about ten years ago.
“Yes.”
“How come your doing this?” she then says
“I’m getting paid... by you.”
“This IS a job.  When did I say I wanted to do this?”


In the third chapter I initiate the gamut of objects observed throughout this tale and their heritage, history, antiquarian sensibilities and design-art qualities.  And bad taste.  And bad taste based on not knowing but... thinking one does... know and thinking one ...knows ‘good taste’.  Quite a bit of time is spent hashing all of this in subsequent chapters.  In this same chapter I also introduce ...through a pile of boxes filled with old letters mounded on the floor, the basic precepts of the ‘old paper’... within the Savage estate, mansion and contents... requiring considerable attention... on several tiers.  At this exact moment in the tale... I have only seen these boxes of letters from a seated distance... and heard... that Helen took one boxes to show off at the historical society... and ...they spoke to me about that (Part Eight).  And spoke to Mr. Dump too (Part Sixteen [C])?  Evidently.
            But point must be point:
            A point:
            One may want to re-read these first three chapters to ...remember the forgotten... and denote how much in those chapters is at play in the following chapters and... STILL IS IN PLAY... as the tale turns toward a... ‘the end’.