"It's Been Two Years" - Part Eleven - "Bark Mulch" - "The Opposite Direction" - (A)

"It's Been Two Years"

Part Eleven

"Bark Mulch" - "The Opposite Direction"

(A)

            Seated... with Cadence in her shed doorway of her ancestral ‘old New England sea captain’s mansion’... and having just completed my ‘reason for stopping by’... and KNOWING that NOW is the proper, appropriate, considerate and sensitive moment to “GET OUT” and “vamoose”... and:

            I know I am, as an antiques picker, ‘in’ to this ‘this estate’.  I do not have to worry or peddle around about that.  I just have to ‘go along’ and “SHE’LL” “show me everything”.  I know that.  I’ve ‘done that’ hundreds of times before... with ‘estates’ and their ‘peoples’.  I “AM” the doing that.  AND the ‘know to “GET OUT” of the doing that... TOO.

            But this time I do not.

            I go in the ...opposite direction.

            And I should not do that and I should ‘do know that’; not to... and I DO know that too but

            The Opposite Direction...

            Is a title of a THE SUBJECT that is the IS of the “WHY?”.  The opposite direction is... where... I go... and ‘want to go’

            For ME.

            And that is simply because that... NOW... that I am seated THERE... in the shed doorway... THERE... with Cadence... and us alone... WE are at an ‘at drift’ THERE that is the opposite direction of the

            “THAT”... and its ‘et al’

            “OVER THERE”

            (WE can actually ‘see it’ ‘off’’ “OVER THERE” from where we sit... not speaking for a moment...; together... just gazing off “OVER THERE”.

            I don’t want to leave.

            That is...:  “GO BACK”

            To join the rest of “IT”

            In a... “Food Court”

            World

            Of “This is now...; our... NEW... New England”.

            So I say to Cadence...with the sly and the topical ‘choose’ skill:

            “How ARE the CATS.”

            “OH.” she says

            And she STANDS UP.

            “LET’S GO SEE!”

            And... I stand up

            Too.

            We ‘go’... in the opposite direction.

            And then again in the opposite direction:

            First ‘inside’ the shed and then ‘turn to the left’ to go through the doorway to the (DARK) back shed... and then across the dark floor to the dark back doorway that is open so the spring greenery from this open door ‘outside’ IS the colored light WE see together as we travel... together... ‘down the isle’ of the ‘opposite direction’... ‘together’.

Who sits where?

The (old beat-up mixed mosh of ‘seating furniture’) “chairs” are the same sort as at the FRONT SHED DOOR and are... arranged the same TOO; at the proper “THE ANGLE” to allow the seated to “SEE OUT” and the “see in” to have “difficulty” ‘doing that and:

There are three chairs; ‘by the doorway’, ‘the middle’, ‘the third one’.  And some other less comfortable ‘stick chairs’ ‘stuck around’.  Too.  Cadence sits in ‘the middle’ chair.  “WHICH?” do I?

Or is it... “WITCH?”.

There IS an etiquette in old New England shed door sitting.

There is... and isn’t that DULL... for old New England reading; to be a reader of “WHERE TO SIT” in the barn shed of the ...old New England ...sea captain’s mansion... when accompanying the estate heiress to ‘SEE’ her cats. It’s just “SOOOO” “Opposite Direction”.  (“OMG”).

So don’t read about it.  Go BACK to the food court “OVER THERE”.

            Cadence, properly, promptly sits herself first... in the middle chair.  The ‘by the doorway’ chair is ‘left empty’ for I, properly and promptly, sit to Cadence’s left in the ‘third chair’.  The doorway chair is reserved for seating ‘a visitor’ who COMES TO this back shed door from ‘out there’.  It is ‘left empty for them’ TO SIT IN ... there.  I sit in the SHADOW of ‘the middle chair’ that is “FOR” the ...peoples such as Cadence on THEIR property.  OTHERS, should there be others in the domestic party, either ‘stand’ or ‘sit’ in ...THEY fetch and move ‘it’; an (uncomfortable) ‘stick chair’.  AGAIN:  THESE CHAIRS ARE ALL “The (old beat-up mixed mosh of ‘seating furniture’) chairs”; the old “I don’t know where they (past generations) came from” chairs.  To many eyes they would be (“authentic”) “ANTIQUES”.  NO “NEW” (especially ‘sets of’) “CHAIRS”:  NO:  Or... back to the food court... FOR YOU.

            So I sit next to Cadence on her left.  I do not waffle in doing this.  I know what to do and where to sit.  IF... one is

            “OFFERED” that first ‘doorway’ chair... by... and only by... the Cadence of the party... IT IS REFUSED.  Commonly... it is not refused and... usually it is unknown to the person who ‘not refused’ (and who commonly DOES sit in it)... an actual insult to be offered that chair because... well:  “They don’t know any better” meaning that the offered... does not know the shed door seating etiquette... for they are ‘is from away”, “NOT raised right”, “doesn’t know” and may be displayed as being that (a “guest” “from away”) by the host or hostess BY ‘being seated’ in THAT CHAIR... and that ...is similar to ...wearing the letter “A” sewed to one’s breast (both female AND male) in ‘old New England’.

            WE... Cadence and I, accomplish all this old New England Wasp seated signaling without comment or notice and are ‘so there seated’ ‘looking out’ and ‘saying nothing’.  “Saying nothing” is part of this seating ritual too:  “ANY idiot” who ‘says’ or ‘has to say’ something about ‘WHICH CHAIR DO I SIT IN?”, etc.... “back to the food court... OVER THERE”.

            I... am gonna go with the “I believe” I have just written out the ‘this’ of an old New England home etiquette ...for a ‘the first time’ (?).  I’ve never seen this ‘written down... soooo... MIND IT... including the “IF there is an actual old and good and rare ‘oriental’ ‘rug’ on the floor ‘there’ or a true ‘antique chair’ THERE... TOO... do not make an ASS of yourself by commenting on it in any way let alone trying to purloin it...

            AND there are MORE hidden nuances and pit falls.  IF you are NEW or “FIRST TIME”... shut up and take it in as a WHOLE play-opera-ballet-musical (chairs) and ‘grace of God’.  IT; the seating ‘by the back shed door’, is ‘over’ in ‘seconds’.

            There is, following the seating ...silence ...and the green light window of the open doorway from ‘out there’.  There is nothing there...; no “else”.

            And today

            There are no cats... in sight.

            There is... only...

            The double wide ...dump truck tire marks... in the abutting neighbor’s side yard where a ...dump truck... has recently “DUMPED” (at the end of the tire marks) a ...dump truck load... of “Bark Mulch” two thirds of the way back and in the middle of... ‘that yard’ (“his yard”).  This dump placement aligns itself ‘perfect’ for ‘being able to see it (the mulch load mound) from Cadence’s ...back shed door.  The neighbor’s bark mulch mound IS the ‘view of’ in the center of the, otherwise, green light.

            Cadence quickly speaks of the bark mulch pile.  “THE cats have discovered it”.  The neighbor has discovered their discovery.  HE has spoken to Cadence of the cat’s ‘interest’ and ‘discovery’.  Cadence denied any “doings” with the cats and the neighbor’s bark mulch mound.  They (the cats) are, she reminds, “not her cats.  Anyway”.  “Cats do whatever they want”.

            Bark mulch mounds (“piles”) dumped from dump trucks... then “SPREAD” and then... viewed with accomplished satisfaction... by the ...now mulch landscaped... home... owner... are ...a ...bane: a fatal poison... to the ‘old New England’ (landscape) eye.  The whole process is a bane; not ‘just the mulch’.

            I observe to Cadence.

            “Bane” she said... she hadn’t used yet to express her feeling that it (bark mulch and its process) ARE a... BANE.  “IT KILLS THE WEEDS” they TELL me.  WHY do you want to KILL THE WEEDS I asked.  OH they say so you do not have to WEED.  OH I say then what do you do then?  SPREAD the BARK MULCH?  BUT IT LOOKS so GOOD they say... when it is all spread.  LOOKS GOOD I say to the NO ONE who DOES NOT KNOW how a GARDEN actually LOOKS.  It is NOT a garden they say.  OH what IS it?  It is a LANDSCAPE... beautiful... they believe.  IT is, your quite correct, a BANE... to the gardener’s EYE.  I MUST remember THAT WORD.”

            She said (Cadence said).

            “I”, said I, “agree”.

            “He (the neighbor) has MEN come who wear all the same (orange) shirts and will spread it (the mulch) all over.  They spread it all over the same spots every year now.  In the fall they rake it up or blow it away with the LEAVES blower.  I told them to blow the LEAVES over HERE.  They all wear their matching shirts when they do that TOO.  One of them said he would give me my own shirt to wear and he DID!  I always wear it when I talk with them (the neighbor’s landscape crew).  They get paid very well to do all this I’ve learned.”

            I... viewing Cadence’s own back shed door foreground-to-property-line ...landscaping...:  I could see the abundance of untended, undisturbed and ...dense ...mulching of old dead leaves all over the bottoms of the view from the rear shed door.  No ‘leaf blowing’.

            No ‘Bark Mulch’

            At old New England homes.

            “Weeding” is done

            At old New England homes.

            If ‘anything’ is done

            At old New England homes.

            “Over grown” “with WEEDS” is

            The Opposite Direction

            Hiding

            At old New England homes.

"It's Been Two Years" - Part Ten - "The Food Court"

"It's Been Two Years"

Part Ten

"The Food Court"

            Cadence has never eaten at a ‘food court’.

            I would believe that by now... my flirtation with old medicine spoons and their occurrence (discovery?) (by my watchful eye upon the drawers I, as antiquarian picker, ‘clean out’ and ‘empty’) has been proven AND that the notion that I would ...return (“return with”)... a medicine spoon to the ‘an estate’ it ‘came from’ WITH that spoon in my shirt pocket and I... seated with the heiress of that spoon in HER shed doorway... thereby ‘prepared’ to ‘engage’ the ...HONOR... of this... ... ... prisoner exchange...:

            “Gracious”.

            And do not worry for hardly... I... need to worry that SHE (the heiress) ever slightly even... “CARES” “about (a) that”.  No... she... THEY... ALL... do not ‘care’ and I, under my antiquarian picker’s belt, have an eternity of “THINGS” “I FOUND” that when “SHOWN” to a ...principal of an estate and ALL OTHERS of ‘could interest’... are a quintessential “no go” when it comes to “CARE”.

            So I... have no concerns about ‘being able to keep that’ (whatever object here being an... old medicine spoon), ET AL... and... politely inform that this-this... expands EVER OUTWARD... from this specimen of rather pleasant old New England (sitting in the shed doorway at an old sea captain’s mansion ‘undisturbed’) to ...surpass even YOUR borders for YOU TOO will... do nothing... for YOU TOO... ‘do not care’ “either”.

            Did I just say that the reader would prefer to ...eat at the food court?  I am... suggesting that... and my actual professional and personal ‘in field’ experience supports that directive ...of this... not a thought... but... a I FEEL:

            My ...feel... of this ...rather large old New England specimen discovery status.

            Does that mean that I find it now to be redundant and boring... to I... that I must record the proof to you that I DID SHOW ...HER... IT... in my professional ‘touch the enemy’; my personal flirt-crazy... my:

            Duty to this tale?

            Fortunately I may box that DRIBBLE up before the curious reader and THEN... lambaste this reader with more... lowering... of that bar to “MORE” of “WHY?” for EYE***** (I) find a fertile... ‘explore this further’... JUST ahead of Cadence and I ...and OUR ...brief... chat about ‘the (old) medicine spoon’ “I FOUND”.  This means I will move briskly ahead with the old spoon query so that WE may go... further... to the deeper... and darker ...so more wonderful... ‘a paradise’ of ...the truly true ‘old New England home’.  This is NOT a big task but IS a task that WILL expand one’s “EYE” and the “SEE” of my... ‘exploration and discourse’ ‘of these matters’; my “Why?”.

            So.... we must clear a little ground about the ‘don’t care’; clear the brush away... so we then too... may get away

            “From that” (the medicine spoon as a “Why?” object).

            “Don’t care” comes from two ‘understood’ states...; first an “understood”; fabricated mentally... and then this mental fabrication is... ‘followed’... by ‘an (in this case estate) owner’.  It is based on ‘value’; the THEIR “VALUE” of any... it.  By value I return us to “IT’S VALUABLE” meaning commercial cash value (Part Six [C]).  “THEIR VALUE” is the... mental fabrication of “HOW VALUABLE” ...THEY... THINK... “IT IS”.  This self fabrication is then ‘followed’ ‘by them’.  Notice this has nothing to do with ...me.  It is a “THEY”.  I simply keep my mouth shut and... let ‘take its course’ ‘go’.  THAT... is that...:  MOST who “VALUABLE” are ...upon ...very obvious items.  For example, a twenty dollar ‘gold piece’ “IS VALUABLE”.  Backing to look over the shoulder of that... one discerns that ‘back there’ IS... “EVERYTHING” that is NOT “valuable” “following” (‘followed’).  So... within the vast sea of objects and their people... THAT is the self-mental-fabricated-NOT-valuable... majority of all... and all... soooo... I may safely SHOW and ASK about the vast majority of any and all and ‘I am safe’.

            HERE DONE with the old medicine spoon is a classic of this-that.  I remind that I just want to TOUCH (very slightly) the enemy so ...I... am controlling the ‘just how brief’ this ‘touch and go’ is.  I take the spoon out of my pocket ... following the conversation’s borderline sentence from Cadence (Part Eight at the very end) that ended her ruffled expressions of rage at her sister.  Holding the spoon toward her I said:

            “Do you know this spoon?”

            “Spoon?  No.” she says peering at it from her seat, then leaning forward.

            “It was in a Victorian stand I bought from you in March:  In the drawer.”

            “Oh... well.  Stand you say.  A table?”

            “Victorian.  With a drawer .”

            “The one in the barn; the back of the barn.”

            “Yes.  In that group of stuff.”

            “You took that.  I remember.”

            “So this was... the drawer was full.  When I emptied it; this was in the drawer”

            “Mother’s stand?”

            “Your mother’s stand?”

            “In the front room.  In everyone’s way.  We moved it out.  When she died.”

            “Oh.  So (holding out the spoon) this was hers.”

            “Oh yes.  Her spoon.  She always kept it in the drawer.”

            “What did she do with it?”

            “Gave us girls the medicine.”

            “What medicine?”

            “Some awful old stuff:  We hated it.  It was that or be spanked”.

            “Be spanked?”

            “The Spanked family she called us.  If we didn’t take our medicine like the Snow family does (so Wasp) then we were the Spanked family.  ‘Has-Been and your sister Should-Be’... SPANKED she called us.”

            I laughed at this and Cadence grinned.

            “Really.”  I said.

            “Really.” She said.  “That’s what that spoon was used for”.

            “Did she heat it?  It looks like it.”

            “Held it in the candle flame; to melt the sugar:  She put the medicine onto sugar.  In the spoon.  There's a sugar bowl for that.  Probably out there (in the back of the barn) too.  Unless you took that.”

            “A sugar bowl?  I don’t think so but... actually... maybe so.”

            “It was white.  We weren’t allowed to touch it.  Ever.”

            My mind was roaring through mental images of ‘the stuff’ ‘I’d bought’.  “SUGAR BOWL” it searched.  “I HAVE ONE WHITE YES I DO.” I heard myself say.

            “Big... awful.” Cadence said

            “But White. Big like you say.”

            “We hated that sugar bowl too.  The Spanked sisters.  Hated it”.

            Now ...THAT’S a STORY.  So I was... ecstatic and... DONE.  “GET OUT” and the spoon... went back in the shirt pocket.  That’s the core trick I master-keep:  “GET OUT”.  The whole thing can turn on... ME so... ‘vamoose’.  But... again... ‘now that’s a story’; a true ‘filling out’ of “WHY?” for

            ME.

            In old New England homes.

I ...just... caught that butterfly NET of ‘almost lost’... the almost... ‘gone forever’.  Now it’s mine.  And I just wrote it down.  Who’s at the food court?

            “Bark Mulch?”

---

***** :  YOUR antiquarian, design, art... fine art... eye.

"It's Been Two Years" - Part Nine - "The Medicine Spoon" - (C) - "Scramble Up To See"

"It's Been Two Years"

Part Nine

"The Medicine Spoon"

(C)

"Scramble Up To See"

            I had my first contact... with a medicine spoon... kept in an old New England sewing stand’s drawer... in an old New England ‘front room’... of an old New England home... on a very old... old New England ‘street’... in a... very old... old New England village... when I was

            CHASED by that spoon... in the hand of my mother.

            “Symbolic Icon” “coming after me”... “IT” (the old medicine spoon) QUICKLY came to be.  I... understood its procurement and ...movement... TOWARD ME... by the sound “IT” made “in another room”.  “Scoot” ...I perfected.

            ICON I understood... IT... perfected.

            EVEN WITH a WHITE SUGAR FILLED “spoonful” SOAKED with... “father john’s” or a... “doctor brown’s”... I... “scoot”.  Historic... and iconic placement in antiquities, decorative arts and... fine arts...:  It; the medicine spoon... IS a ‘design form’ of

            Old New England.  HOW

            YOU get to YOUR acknowledgement of this foundation value

            Is your problem.

            I... ‘am there’ with...; I have nearly a half century of discovery, identification, inspection, contemplation, gathering, ruminating upon and ‘getting rid of’... old... medicine spoons I have “FOUND” in ...old New England homes.  Therefore “WHY?”... should be easier to understand IF I, like a dancing bear... “A” to “Z”

            Prove

            That it is not

            Just me.

            I will do “A” and then “Z”.  YOU ...MAY... fill in the rest... of the individualized letter referenced ‘examples’; the remaining 24 letters... but... I will now direct and remind that... in this tale... I am AT Cadence’s ‘seated in shed door’ now TWO weeks ago with...

            an...

            Old coin silver teaspoon sticking up-out my shirt pocket to... ‘ask her about’ (Part Eight) so ...YOU... only have to come up with twenty-three ‘examples’.

            Do not worry... if you cannot... I... can.

            The American classic foundation example of a “the medicine spoon”:

            I have already referenced Twain’s TOM SAWYER in this tale (Part Nine [A]) but now...

            “YEAH”... be you... ALREADY... GOING... “OH NO”?

            That’s right... even the “YOU” “KNOWS” “The Cat and the Pain Killer”.  (That’s chapter twelve in the tome) and for the ‘otherwise’ reader:  “I can’t believe you don’t know that story your such an idiot”.  Shortened to ‘go read it you need to’ simple summary... TOM is chased by a ...the medicine spoon... in the hand of Aunt Polly until he... gets a figure-this-out on... on it (the spoon)... by faining self-dosing cheerfully when he is actually ‘filling in a crack in the floor’ using... the medicine spoon... to deploy the medicine... a spoonful at a time.  This all comes to a tumble down when Tom... doses the cat with the ‘pain killer’ served up in, again, ...the medicine spoon... and:  GO READ IT (the whole book; Adventures of Tom Sawyer).

            That is icon example “A”.

It is, as a foundation example, very had to beat inclusive of the ORIGINAL EDITION illustrations... TOO.

            So.... for I... “I WAS CHASED... and... Tom Sawyer was chased

            By a The Medicine Spoon.

            Too.

            From that starting example...

“A”...

There are many... many... many more examples. 

(Including Louisa May)

            Throughout

            The history of

            Our

            U.S.A.

            “HOW” throughout ...the U.S.A. history... is well rolled up tight and

            Crammed

            By example “Z”

            There is very little... and very little reason... in American prose... to be able to ‘well roll up tight’ and ‘cram’.  Inappropriate merges with lack of actual physical state to purvey ‘no opportunity’ to... ‘get away doing that’.  THAT then adapts... to prose pontification... to a ...purveys... that SHOULD an opportunity present itself... it... SHOULD be seized:  That is... it is... the old core of “There are only opportunities and the seizing of them.”

            Fluttering down like a lone leaf last fall... but actually occurring but a mere five weeks ago... THIS SPRING (“April 14, 2014”)... and before the ‘two weeks ago’ of NOW... where I am seated with Cadence ...at her shed doorway... I

            “GOT YOU”:

            Example “Z”:

            The pictorial illustrated cover of “THE NEW YORKER” magazine****

            Where a:

            The hand holds the... The Medicine Spoon... in iconic poise.  The other hand holds the ...medicine bottle... in ...iconic poise reminiscent of TOM dosing the CAT...; an ‘illustration’ it is... too.  WHO holds those icons to DOSE WHO WHY WHEN WHERE upon the cover

            OF WHAT MAGAZINE?

            “WHAT WEEKS AGO?"

            “NO!” you say.

            “YES” I say and it is

            TOO

            ALL

            Iconic... symbolism TOO

            OF

            “The Medicine Spoon”.

It is disturbing, I know (understand),

That perturbance

            Of balance

            Of the I... my... ‘get that’ “THIS”;

            To get away with THAT THIS

            HERE... for such a simple object

            And its ownership of

            Its design heritage...

            In old drawers ‘a clutter’

            In an old New England home.

            But I got it, get it.

            Roll it tight

            And... “crammed”

            As example “Z”.

            Now that I have established and supported the iconic (design) heritage of

            The Medicine Spoon

            Sticking up from my shirt pocket

            To be ‘shown’ to Cadence

            To... ‘ask about’

            To... verify

            My

            “Why?”

            As of this ... old New England

Absolution

            Of my SHARED WITH YOU

            “One example of”

            “In an old New England home”...

            WE

            May now travel together

            With my self (infatuated?) FEEL

            Of a wholeness... an old New England wholeness

            WITHIN the old New England home

            That dare me to

            “Chucked it out”;

            The new (?) ‘The Medicine Spoon’:

“I have to park

My SUV

At the Box Store.

...By Three”.

             “LEAVE ME”

            If you are that.

            If you are not

            Then welcome to the ‘how beautiful it is’

            To sit with Cadence in her shed doorway

            With her ruffled self and

            Her kitty

            Cats:

            Her wreck upon the rocks

            “I scramble up to see”.

---

**** :  Barry Blitt, “The Best Medicine”, “COVER”, THE NEW YORKER, APRIL 14, 2014.