Cold Black Coffee
Rambling-Round
Cold
black coffee: Rambling-round.
Cold
black coffee “So black a spoon ill standup in it”.
“YOU
STILL GOT THAT (early New England – Maine made - lead glazed earthenware)
REDWARE JAR (‘stew pot’) YOU HAD TO THE FORT (local flea market)?”
“NO.”
“SELL
IT?”
“NO.”
(Pause).
(sip).
(Pause).
(Eye
contact).
“NO.”
said again.
“Where
is it?”
“Give
it to go to PORTSMOUTH (antiques dealer’s show/sale) LAST WEEK.”
“Did
it go?”
“Believe
so.”
“You’d
think you’d KNOW if it WENT by NOW.”
“Not
this time of year: Went on to his
DAUGHTER’S. She’s NOW moved BACK
from that GEORGIA. DIVORCED. MOVING TO NORTH READING (Mass.).”
“Oh... Been there... Some.”
“I
picked along there too... Bedford.
Arlington-Lexington. Good
area. Used to be.”
“Where’d
you find that jar anyway?”
“Your
neighbor’s garage sale.”
(Pause).
(Sip).
(Pause).
(Eye
contact).
“You
still got all your ammo? You still
HOARDING it?”
“Shut-up.”
“That
new economy trickled down to you guys right away didn’t it. Seems to me you guys might be the first
ones to have been screwed by him.”
“Shut-up”
“Nice
of him to get to you first. He
drained your swamp didn’t he. What
you do’en ‘bout it?”
“Let’s
put it this way: I ain’t buying
any anymore. I got my lifetime
supplied.”
“And
the junk guns?”
“Oh
I’d gotten rid of most of those this last summer”.
“Old
ten dollar guns not worth ten dollars anymore”.
“Right. Where’d you find that jar anyway.”
“I
told you: Two doors down on the
right.”
(Pause.)
(Sip.)
(Pause.)
“That
place don’t even HAVE a garage”.
“Nope. PORCH SALE actually. I always like them PORCH SALES
anyway: Halfway into the house
when you start. Been asking ‘em
for old guitars, records and ‘cook where’ I’s CALL IT. That’s working. They all got it: Got that COOK... WHERE. Jesus.”
“Cookware? I seen you with all that. That sells?”
“Who
cares. Just throw it out if it
don’t. But. Jesus. They all got it. Boxes of the old shit.
Every which way in there.
Downstairs-backstairs-cellar-attic-garage-shed out back-sister’s house
up the street and THEN they take you through their grandmother’s place too.”
“Works...
huh.”
“Works
huh harder than your lazy ass ever has.”
“What’s
that then... you find that jar along doing that?”
“That’s
the whole point: Get in and
GO. LOOK AROUND STUPID. I don’t know what they got and THEY
DON’T KNOW EITHER. Next thing I’m
back in the truck cab with that old pot and a sip of cold coffee.”
“How
much you gonna get out of that?”
“The
coffee? It’s cold but black as
tar. I like it that way.
“No. What you got on that jar?”
“Just
a here and there. I don’t want too
much; buy a MESS. Don’t make ‘em a
MESS. Get a little goodies along
and get out. I come back a month
later and ... ‘low and behold’... they DO ‘got more’. I said to one of ‘em “WHERE’D YOU GET ALL THIS (cookware)?”
. The fools BOUGHT IT.”
“Christmas
is on SUNDAY this year.”
“Yeah
I know.”
“So
that does that.”
“Does
that for the whole damn WEEK. Be
TUESDAY January THIRD before I can do anything.”
“I
won’t even TRY. Just sit around at
the FLEA (flea market) and eat cookies.
They got that New Year’s day (antiques) show. You ever do that?
“No.”
“Some
say they do pretty good”.
“I
don’t think so; not too much money around that morning (New Year’s day). Same old – same old. Seems to me.
(Pause).
(Sip).
(Pause).
“Didn’t
you do something with that Mildred Calihanny’s place one New Years.”
“Yes. After the fire.”
“Fire?”
“She
had a chimney fire New Years eve.
Nothing. Stomped all around
her place pretending to be putting it out. I went in the attic with Bud. Shined the flashlight all around in the attic. No fire there but Jesus was it
FULL. So I went right to her and
talked cash. Went back the next
day. That was New Years. I’ve known her along time. Since her sister’s DOG drowned at
Kettle Pond. We were just out of
high school then.”
“Her
mother lived a long time at the Benjamin Hardy place. Housekeeper for the Hardies. She out lived ‘em all.
Tough birds that family.”
“Didn’t
make cookies?”
“No: No cookies there.”
“What’s
happened to all that stuff anyway”
“Last
I heard it was still in Hastings’ barn over across the river. Sold the (Hardy) place couple years
ago. Wouldn’t ever let me in.”
“You
can’t get Hastings to let you in?”
“I
can get in but it ain’t his to sell.
Was piled right up there; the whole kit and caboodle. When I seen it. STILL ALL THERE as far as I know.”
“You’d
think they’d do something.”
“Oh
they will SOMETIME. Not this
week. Turned cold too. Can’t get ‘em to stand in a barn ten
minutes unless your handing ‘em hundred dollar bills. I’m not gonna do that.
Wait it out. Plenty of
stuff around. Anyway.
“What
do you think: Santa’s gonna come
and make it all right?”
“If
he could just put them louvers in my new shed I be happy”.
“You
didn’t stick those in?
“No...
the fall got away from me again.”
“Get
the ladder and go out there.”
“Yeah...
standing on a ladder holding on to galvanized eight pennies (nails) with my
finger tips: I’ll just get to it right now.”
“Come
on; winters not THAT bad yet.”
“I'd rather go down in the basement and...”
“Count
your bricks of twenty-twos. Count
‘em up and send Uncle Donald the bill.
You know: ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS from SANTA’!”
“You
think he should wear a red suit and go around in a sled? Toss everyone handfuls of money? That ah get him the damn Popular Vote.”
“You
gonna be at the flea Saturday.
Suppose to snow again.”
“Farmer’s
Market will be there. Sort
of. Anyways. I’ll be there.”
“BRING
along that Bennington (Vermont pottery made blue decorated stoneware)
crock: I’d like look at that
again.”
“Look
at it or buy it?
“You
know; talk about it.
“It’s
perfect and it’s great.”
“Yeah
but you got it priced
It’s
gonna sell. That’s what I’ve been
selling: Collector grade. Real antiques with obvious quality. Attractive. Perfect condition.
Classic heritage, classic history, classic design (art history). Stand alone decorative appeal. You know: “I want that in my
home”. Mostly American made; New
England. They’re decorating with
things that are stand alone ‘real good’.
YOU... don’t have anything like that to sell.”
“Now
just wait”.
“No
you don’t. You don’t. All you got for sale is old crummy
stuff. They want ‘real nice’
perfect and real. Collector
grade.”
