A Lot of Crap
“It started with a flat tire this morning, & the good fortune of having a compressor on site, and a friend who took on the task of figuring out a Chevy Silverado tire change. It reminded me of the old days: his truck next to mine, doors flung open, music blaring from the sound system, while we poured over the manual, looking for clues. The notes soared & lifted my spirits. “Is that you, on everything?” I said. Because I knew he’d recorded it himself, and during a time period when social distancing was still all the rage. “Yeah,” he said, and I understood, since my own enthusiasms in the studio often lead me to play more instruments than I would normally admit to playing. In our pleasant bubble, we continued to puzzle over car parts, solve the world’s problems & simultaneously, prep for a day of roofing. But, the tire change was not going to come easy. In the end, he said “Call Thad” and I found Thad in the phone book. A small garage maybe 15 minutes away, downhill. Thad’s chipper voice told me to “come on down” making the experience almost complete. It’s no secret that when you call a guy like Thad, he’s probably underneath a car, and he would have every right to be pissed off at you for calling. Not so here. So it seemed only fair, to take my life in my hands, trying to be equally chipper, and hope my tire would hold for the ride. Rolling into town, again, I felt the peculiar relief of one who is used to continual mishap. I’d memorized the map: past the park, the post office, past the Irving station, but before the hardware store, the small shop on the right. I won’t play this up to much longer. Suffice it to say, I enjoyed my five minutes with Thad. He knew exactly what kind of screw had pierced my tread. I kept it, and threw it towards my cup holder, then watched it bounce out and land amidst a lot of crap on the floor mats. Before I left, he asked me where it was. Not used to such a royal level of care, I felt almost ashamed. Things progressed to my insisting I had it, when really, it was closer to lost. Small deceptions and inaccurate reporting are often the door to further breakdown. I’ll make it up to him, I told myself, and drove next door to the gas station, to get a coffee and a mass produced fruit pie. I cut corners, when I have to, and this is such a time for me. With most of my belongings in storage, I can’t eat exactly right, because my kitchen is under construction and most of my utensils missing. Breakfast, has to be simple & so I’m making hay while the sun still shines. Learning which “convenience” stores will continue to welcome me, regardless, and hand me food stuffs, along with beverages. The day didn’t disappoint, in terms of more odd things. There was a specialty tool failure, the “wet saw” so we couldn’t cut my slate. But I followed a Craiglist lead, and made my way to a slab of Verde Antique somewhere down a road in Northfield. Where in the overgrown grass of a nondescript ranch house, dozens of piles propped against worn clapboard told the complex story of Vermont stone, and its nearly hidden artisanal class of workers. And with a moving blanket and truck bed crowded with tools, we laid it in. Then, confirming my worst suspicions, he gestured up towards the dark hills, to where the short cut was: called Devil’s washbowl. One of those roads, you think you know, but then doubt yourself when it’s too late to turn back. The smells of dinner cooking waft now & then, seemingly from impenetrable woods, and the way turns to single track, which is heart stopping when you realize there’s no where to back up to, or pull off. I dunno. It wasn’t just that. Coming off the dirt road in anticipation of Route 100, a huge truck appeared out of nowhere, sideways in the road. Blocking traffic in all directions, so that neighbors came out, to gawk and offer help. No accident, just some kind of obscure twist of fate or misfortune. Back to that again, i find myself reciting archaic prayers I didn’t think I knew, which is a kind of safety I can feel in my bones. Not a mandate, not even a suggested practice, but a spontaneous welling, sometimes with tears, to bring something high, and mighty, down to earth, and bring it now.”