Monday, February 10, 2014

Coy - Part Twenty-Seven - "Paddle and Portage"


Part Twenty-Seven

"Paddle and Portage"

            I did not have the slightest concern that the suggestion by the historical society collections curator (?) that they (including Mr. Dump I presumed) be granted access to ...what did he call it?  Oh yes... it was “TRY to GO IN” for “ORGANIZING... historical... archives”... by Helen’s Lawyer ‘would happen’.  They, including Mr. (Dump) would certainly contact Helen’s lawyer and HE would a “SAY SO TOO” (that this organizing historical archives)... particularly to establish dollar value figures... that could by viewed on as a color pie shaped graph on... well... personal finance on the home computer was still... ramping up back then (fourteen years ago).  Remember?  So the lawyer would have to contact Helen... I suppose.  Because he does not have a key himself... to ‘GO IN’... I presumed.
            I looked at my single dice; a small cube game dice, just one dice... that I have (I still HAVE it) in the bottom of my right pocket... of my Carhartt work suit (Part Eighteen [A])... that I was wearing right then... in MY...freezing old New England farm winter... barn... after the telephone call.  I had put it on so I could go out into MY cold barn ‘to find’ ‘that stuff’... ‘I bought’ from the historical society’s autumn fair’s bric-brac table.
            I looked at my dice... to ...confirm... that I ..did not have the slightest concern... nor NEED have the slightest concern ‘about this’ (the historical society’s GO IN).  The dice... in my right pocket and retrieved by my right hand... noting again that I am left handed (Part One and Two)... is consulted (‘run queries by’) by I “all the time” “during the winter”.  The rest of the seasons I don’t wear the suit so... don’t have the dice ‘at hand’ in my pocket like I do when I wear the work suit ‘all winter’.  Do I ‘miss’ my dice in the summer?  No; “it’s seasonal”.
            The dice shows, when retrieved, a number... between one and six.  One is low, six is high, three is in the middle while four and five are mediocre while two is dead mediocre...:  Is three best?  Or is one or six best?  One best?  Six worse?  Or six best and one worse.  Or...:  By that time the dice has been, by my right hand, put back in the right pocket and I have ‘moved along’.  That’s how I handle the number ‘I get’ on a ‘run queries by’.  I don’t really know WHAT ‘I get’ for my query but... I DO have a number FOR that query.  It’s sort of the same as what the lawyer wants:  He wants a (cash value) number for the room but doesn’t really care-to-need-to-know... WHAT the library room is and WHAT is in that room.  It’s amusing to me, continually, how my dice and dice query actually DO respond to ACTUAL real life circumstance OF a query even though I know that “your crazy” is the general retort to those who ‘see you (I) do that’ (check the dice)***.  This is where the right hand – left hand comes into play.  For a left hand... a right hand and its actions are... over there; on the right side.  Sort of like Old New England ‘pitched’ ‘up side down’... viewed from there; the left hand’s side:  The right hand... its ‘over there’... right side UP... ‘with the rest of all that; what ever all that is’.  It’s my left side that decides after letting the RIGHT SIDE ‘make the draw’.  Decides what?  It’s a ‘them versus me’ left handed view of the right hand?  WITH ‘a number’ everyone can actually see.  Works great for me... but... when it comes to antiques hunting in old New England estates... I’m crazy.
I am:
            “A crazy man”:

            “I need some help.”
            “I need a crazy man.”

            I wrote that at the end of Part Eight.
            Then I write four chapters (Parts Nine [A-D]) about ‘finding’ ‘my’ ‘crazy man’.

            And I find some sort of crazy man that, well done and well intentioned as that hunt was... NOW... ‘just like it always does’... ‘fails to show up’ when... ‘someone’ cuts a hole in the floor of an old New England estate and... things... start to fall into that hole.  Suddenly I’M in that hole TOO.
            And I’ve been there in those holes (that kind of hole) many times before.  And I like it.
            “Just getting interesting... this estate is... for me?”  So the dice said ...number three.... as I crossed our barn yard to my barn.  “Is that in the middle?”  Back in that February barn I had the dice and used it... too.  On Crap Pile... (Part Eighteen [A-E]).  He (Crap Pile)... consistently draws a four.  “What does that mean?  I don’t know but... I got a number...for him.  Right?
            With a three on the way to the barn I... pushed that onto my initial query of ‘did not have the slightest concern’ that the historical society would “GO IN”.  Number three on that sounds good to me.  Because.  I knew.  That there is NO WAY Helen’s gonna ‘do that’ and that... based on MY expertise of being with her AND the number three (in the middle?) ...that SHE
            At all...:  AT ALL.
            That’s what happened.

            So I drew the dice again just inside the sliding barn door and drew “two” (“dead mediocre”).  SINCE I found the stuff I’d bought right away that draw couldn’t have covered that ‘easy find’.  THAT pushed the ‘two’ onto... the stuff?
            There was (is... I still have the stuff.  I think) a Victorian cup and saucer.  Four miss-matched “Honeycomb” pattern EAPG (Early American Pressed Glass) goblets (1860-1890) and... a glass (sweetmeat) ‘dish’.  I contemplated the dish.  I had, at purchase time, accurately and quickly identified the ‘sweetmeat dish’ as ‘probably English but possibly American ‘late’(1850’s) Anglo-Irish type cut glass... of heavy... lead glass “GREAT BASE WEAR” (from actual usage so there showing its age) and “having” attractive step cut corners to it’s Ashburton variant pattern that caused these corners to become cut hearts (heart shape) (nice touch).  Down the hatch for ‘two bucks’ without a ‘think’ it went.  Until now.
            I buy ....real antiques like this... off bric-brac tables for a buck or two apiece all the time right in front of and FROM ‘should know better’ so... it... is... a... NOTHING to do this.  That’s WHY I’m at the bric-brac table.  NOT AT THE PUNCH BOWL table.  Not at the ‘aprons’ table either.

            SO NOW... with number two in mind mind is... “Would never know (EVEN THINK THAT) this... stuff... came from the Savage mansion.  “Huh”.  Couldn’t ever PROVE that.  THEY (the historical society three women committee ‘of the bric-brac table ...who know Janet-of-the-silver-fork... REAL well...) wouldn’t ‘have known that’ about ANY of the ‘two boxes of donations’ “WE GOT”... from, like, WHERE... in the estate?
            I asked.
            The committee woman ‘manning’ the ‘sales’... ‘table’
            And she said...:  “FROM SOME CUPBOARDS IN THE DINING ROOM”.
            “Oh... of course... HOW STUPD OF ME... to forget that when... four (includes Helen) middle age women are in an old New England estate seeking ‘donations’ for an ‘autumn fair’ bric-brac table... the logical source of appropriate bric-brac IS in the “OLD” “STUFF” “STORED” in the BOTTOMS of the CUPBOARDS of the DINING ROOM that “I” “NEVER USE”.
            “Got it.”
            AND... I bet it took ALL FOUR WOMEN five times longer to fill TWO boxes than it would have taken me to fill TWO HUNDRED BOXES “look at all this junk in here’.
            Don’t WORRY, Helen... they’ll be back for more next summer. THEY SAW how much JUNK you have too.  Or is it ‘clutter’?
            Better ask Eileen.
            I was concise on my bric-brac seek, find and query:  I will be going to the historical society’s Holiday Fair and ...visiting the bric-brac table.  No worry there... those ladies are always very nice and glad to see me because I
            “Hopefully” they will be selling more of the Savage Estate ...clutter (junk) “She donated it is SO NICE of HER”.
            Back to the dice.  Now that it has been... revealed as a tool... of a crazy man... don’t forget it.  I... once... while working... in the clean out in the winter of an old Maine barn... lost it (the dice).  I... I... I... lost it.  That’s it.  It was gone a week as I worked.  At least.  I got tired one afternoon so sat down in an old rocking chair for just a minute.  I was sitting there and... I see the dice... way... over and away from me on the floor... in the barn dirt.  I mean; THERE IT WAS.  I got up and fetched it; put it back in its pocket.  Still can’t believe the whole thing happened.  Showed some of the clean out crew.  “What’s its number?” one of them asked.
            One has to be there?
            One... cleans out old barns in the middle of the winter... one might query the dice too?
            But... one will never ‘be there’?
            “Haven’t seen you.”
            I’m a crazy man.
            Never see anyone.
            In barns
            And ... in holes cut in the floors of old New England estates.

*** Oddly, those around me... in the estates... in the winter... working... after the initial “AH... YOU’S NUTS”... take to the query dice too and, too, want ‘to know the number’ I ‘just drew’ when they see me ‘do that’ (check the dice).  Its... “addicting” one of them told me.

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