Coy - Part Twenty-Eight - "Fly Fishing"

Coy

Part Twenty-Eight

"Fly Fishing"

            There being established for I a... thread... between the Savage estate and ...a cup and saucer, four goblets and a glass dish... in my cold barn... that I NOTICE that (1) “I” ‘not known of’ this thread before. (2) Is there (the thread is) because I... and only I... “know that” ‘now’.  (3) I could not prove a bit of it.  (4) I care.  (5) I don’t care.

            I don’t care if it is I who... breaks the thread?

            When I am....:  Well; FIRST:  Most people do not break threads (an actual string thread).  I, mostly, don’t break real threads either.  Most people, and I, do not encounter threads very often so that further evades the ‘breaking a thread’ taking place.  WHO... has a thread to break... often.

Well I do... and that is:  WHEN I AM... from above... in barns, sheds, on farmyard paths, stepping through doorways, barn door portals, barn attics, house attics, cellar stairs and before old windows; dirty, loose, cracked, silent... but illuminating... I encounter threads... I break.

            Spiders’

            Webs;

            They scurry off to the web’s dark edges as I... in varying method... break a... or many... OR ALL of the

            Web

            Treads.

            And move on about my mission.

            The next day... that broken thread(s) is back.

            And I break it again?

            And again.

            And again until I am eventually DONE with whatever ruckus I’s be at.

            So I’ve broken a lot of threads

            “Pretty often”.

            NOW I have before me a thread that I ...I... know of and cannot ‘show’ ‘anyone’.  Should I break it?  Should I ...do what?  TELL ME WHAT TO DO IF YOUR SO SMART.  I don’t... even have my DICE with me for YOU to draw (Part Twenty-Seven).

            Sorry.

            AND how about ...ignoring THAT thread and going back to look at the WEB where that thread ‘goes back to’?

            So I did nothing about the heart cut sweetmeat dish; I ‘left it’ ‘in the barn’ and ... a few weeks later... arrived ‘after it started’ at the historical society ‘Holiday Fair’.

            It was crowded with ...cackling women, their sordid and silent husbands AND... their DOGS.  That’s right; their doggies on leashes in ... mostly homemade craft-by-I ...holiday outfits (costumes?).  “YIKES” if one is ‘straight at that’ but I ‘skirted’ directly to the bric-brac table.

            And purchased a... and an a... and an “Oh this TOO”.  Then I stopped grabbing and... surveyed each and every object on the six by three foot table top very, very slowly looking to see if ...and then IF... and then... looked up at the committee woman sales’ table manager and.

            Looked back over the whole table top covered with... neat little pen marked white price stickers on neatly arranged JUNK... with no further ‘antique’ that I could ‘see’.  So I picked up this ...acid orange... ‘plastic’ oval orb shaped ‘S’ divided 1950’s anticipating the 1960’s ...snack bowl... and “I’d like to add this too please”.  It was ‘stickered’ a dollar.

            The candlestick was ...five dollars.

            Then the... take the pick from ALL the objects made of glass found in a nineteenth century New England / Maine sea captain’s Victorian era estate’s dining room... for three dollars.

            And... another “Glassware’’ she ...wrote down on a yellow legal pad... for ...one dollar.

            And another “Glassware”.

            And another.  Both for one dollar.  Too.

            The human noise din... and interactive ...nasty... doggie barking (yapping?) kept pace with the crowd who... did not visit I at the bric-brac table so the committee sales woman says to me over the din “THERE IS ANOTHER BOX OF THAT OLDER THINGS BY THE BACK DOOR OF THE KITCHEN IF YOU WANT TO LOOK THERE.  IT’S ALL PRICED.”

            “Thank you” and I was ‘going there’.  IT’S WHERE THE HOLE IN THE SAVAGE ESTATE FLOOR COMES OUT.  And there were, in fact, (THE) TWO boxes of ‘older things’.

            Noting great but I ah...

            TWO ‘Buckle pattern’ EAPG (early American pressed glass) goblets ‘very dirty’.  A dirty Buckle butter dish lid... ‘only’.  A Buckle sugar bowl with NO LID (‘missing; presumed broken’.  The same for the butter dish bottom).  “THAT’S NICE.”... I said to myself.  I added a sawtooth pattern ...open table salt... a ‘bold presence’ loop pattern ‘celery’... and an “Oxford” pattern brown transferware ‘gravy’, a matching small platter or under tray and a sawtooth pattern footed... we’ll get to it.

            My arms were full.  I retreated to the sales stable with my ‘clutch’.  No one cared.  I gave the two boxes one final scan before I... cut the thread.  Obviously ALL the ‘stuff’ was from Helen’s dining room... a bottom of one cupboard?  “HERE:  WE’LL PUT ALL YOUR PURCHASES in THIS BOX” the committee woman said as she raised a cardboard box from behind the table, put it on her chair seat, put the ‘glassware’, et al, into the box packing newspaper around each item, set the acid orange ‘snack bowl’ on top of the box ...‘up side down’...  and:

            “YOUR BUYING MY MOTHER’S BOWL.” came Janet-of-the-silver-fork’s (Part Sixteen [A-C]) voice to my back as SHE arrived at the table.

            “BOWL?” said the committee woman.

             “THAT WAS MY MOTHERS SHE USED IT ALL THE TIME.” said Janet looking up from the bowl at... me.

            “Your grandmother’s bowl” I said.

            “No.  It was my mother’s.  She always used it.”

            “I think it was your grandmother’s.” I said.

            Janet looked at me hard.

            “It depends on how old you want to be.” I said.

            Pause.

            “HOW OLD IS that bowl?” She said.  “It’s PLASTIC”.

            “1953.  Early plastic”.

            Pause.

            “Your right.  I think she did get it from her mother; my GRANDMOTHER”. YOU... bought that?  WHY?

            “Bad taste”.

            “What?”

            “I have it”.

            “No... WHY?  It is valuable?”

            “No.  Good design though.  Classic”

            “Designed good?  She always used it.”

            “No... Art.”

            “Its art?”

            “Now that I own it.”

            “It’s an OLD plastic dish.  AN ORANGE dish.  I hate it”

            “Thank you.”

            “What else did you buy?”

            “The old glassware” said the committee woman.”

            “That too.” I said pointing to a ‘glassware’ that had ‘missed’ being put in the box.’  It was the EAPG sawtooth patterned...

            “What IS that?” said Janet.

            “It’s a SPOON CADDY,” said the committee woman.

            “Spill.” I said

            “Spill?” said Janet turning her head to look out into the room where she saw me looking and... she presumed I was referring to.

            “Get a paper towel.” I said.

            “Who spilled?” Janet said.

            “One of those dogs” I said

            “Oh no,” said Janet and ...headed off.

            “It IS smaller so your PROBABLY RIGHT it IS A SPILL.” said the committee woman

            “I’m sure it is.  It’s too small to hold many spoons.”

            Spills... are little cigarette sized and shaped rolls of old scrap paper or whittler’s whittled wood match like sticks prepared in the Victorian era and put in pressed glass ‘spills’ to be used to light kerosene lamps, et al.  Lighted on the flame at one lamp they were carried to light the other lamps... or the stove... or fireplace.  In ‘olden times’ spills were stored in ‘spill holders’.  Today a spill is sopped up by a paper towel.  Ask Janet who... evidently... DID find a ‘spill’.

            At this moment... in the room of the Holiday Fair... I had the pleasure of Mr. (Dump) ...joining us; the committee woman and I.  He picked up the orange snack bowl that was... NOW... up side down on top of the box of glassware THAT I WAS HOLDING... with both arms... in front of me...  He turned it over, looked upon its bowl, reversed it and set it back down.  I... nodded to his upward peering face.  He nodded back and said “Happy Holidays” while letting his eyes drop back upon the ...orange snack bowl.

            “Beguiles me watching you at work.” said Mr. (Dump).  “You ARE working... THAT is your WORK.” He continued.

            “I can interest you?  For your collections?  That?” I said nodding downward with my chin toward the snack bowl.  “A wonderful (art) statement.  Catches everyone’s eyes since the moment I ...acquired it.  From a well regarded local estate.  I’ve verified.”

            “What is it?”

            “Spaulding Wear.  Chicago.”

            “Oh.  Of course.”

            “You garner?”

            “Oh no... but I know the name.”

            “Your mother used it?”

            Pause.

With a silent flash of Mr. (Dump’s) eyes that would have... cut my throat...  If it were not for the outbreak of hostilities between several costumed doggies... over by the Christmas tree... that with their snarling, snarling leashes, dragged and yanked leash holders, outbursts of womanly shouting commanding the doggies and... a flicker of panic to the whole room... I would have died from a slashed throat.