“It’s hard to even describe how beautiful people are. Which is why I’m so highly protective, of the ones I know, or have met in the last 24 hours. Between the very real cashier who sold me a bottle of gas station wine, and the snotty, dolled up proprietor of a fake general store, I know who’s who. One was incredibly warm & sent me across town to Hubbard’s for coffee beans; the other looked down her nose at me, so I peeled out in my truck with added flourish. The day was grand. On the front end, I got to help a friend stack her wood. On the back end, a late Airbnb guest arrived in the dark, not so familiar with yurts. I need help too, but its all a matter of timing. I can sideline myself, I can delay. Because lots & lots of practice, makes perfect. Not being famous, or attended to by strivers, or beholden to people who think I’m something that I’m not, I’m left to manage my own failures, in an honest and productive way. And how lucky a handicap, this can be. When the money runs out, no one catches me. When I mangle a relationship, no buffer appears to blunt the impact. I often find myself, standing in a cold garage. Here is the toilet, 100 lbs., needing to levitate my tailgate, and into the truck bed. I do slow down time, when I can. To hoist my weight against some inert, warehoused object, & meditate on the shortcomings, of my situation. A tailgate, a disengaged radiator, an abandoned love seat. All give me something, at least one thing, to push against, in defiance of the odds. If I smoked more, this would be the time for a cig. I love that I’ve learned, to lean back & just observe. Taking time out, to analyze, how things are falling short. If you don’t get worked up about it, there are gains to be made here. Even when your life’s a chess game. You hear the low gas ding-ding-ding, and do your best, to calculate the grace period allotted you. In my case, I shot for pumps in Rochester, and made it by a hair. Again, the genuine, unexpected friendliness as I coughed up $60 pre-paid, kind of blew my quarantined mind. Why is not so much the issue. It’s more a split-second decision that asks: can I rise to the occasion? Can I bust out the old gaffer’s mode of business? Where you do your best to greet, with respect, anyone. Not sizing them up, first. No, respect, comes first. Not judgment. My guest came in the dark, as I thought he might; it’s a long drive from Quebec City, to here. I liked him, right from the start, and led him up through the snow. He pulled his valise along, casting a dim cell phone flash light forward. We trudged the slope together, past blueberry bushes knee deep in dark powder. The yurt hung in cold moonlight. I began to gather kindling, and started the fire quickly. He could have figured it out, was clearly comfortable dealing, but isn’t it nice to offer a hand, when we can? We have to remember, many amazing strangers have secret powers. You won’t necessarily know who’s who, at first blush. So err on the side of so much love. And so much love, again, and again, and again. No fucking harm done, capiche?”
