Last night, my grandmother gave me an empty 42” LCD HDTV box to take to the recycling plant. I tied it down in the back of the truck with some twine I had from feeding me Mum’s horses.
I had to stop by the petrol station this morning to get some fuel. After filling the the truck up, I sat down in the drivers seat and proceeded to write down the mileage. The fueling station was empty except for my truck and another car.
I heard the thud of taut string hitting the side of the bed, so I glanced up into the rear view mirror and discovered a young man in a black hoodie cutting the strings holding the box.
Evidently, he didn’t see me or didn’t care. He quickly cut the rest of the twine and started to pick up the empty box. Just as he picked it up, he realised that it was empty. His nose twitched, as his eyes got bigger and bigger to the point that I thought that they would bounce out of his head.
He held it for a second, swaying form side to side, and threw it back in the truck. As he started to run away, I stuck my head out of the window, and said, “Hey, I’ve got an empty cup in here, if you want that”.
He kept running!
I told the lady behind the bullet-proof glass to watch out for the empty handed bandit. She laughed!
As most of you know, I’m back into a sparring and workout routine. I work hard, when I really want something. After jumping rope and thrusting throws into a 70lb. boxing bag, I came inside to finish my workout in the cool air. I grabbed two resistance tubes that remind me of a very big rubber band. I sat down at my desk and began doing arm curl holds that build tone. Basically, you put one end of the tube under your foot, pull with the corresponding arm, and hold a curled position.
Well, I got in too much of a hurry and hoicked a bit too hard on the band. It slipped out from under my foot and hit me directly in the left eye. There was a sudden rush of pain and adrenaline, so I opened both my eyes to see if there was any blood. What I discovered through the watery pool that had filled my eyelids astonished me. I was shaken by it. I ran to the sink and washed out my eyes. My hands were shaking, when I rose to gaze into the mirror.
I could see the detail of my hands like never before. I could see out of BOTH EYE’s! The very depth of the ornate symbols that envelope the mirror came into view like never before. The ridges in my knuckles looked like deep craves. It was like going from a fuzzy old TV to a new wide screen HD one. But, as soon as I started realising what I had, it went away. It has been a few hours since that happened. I was shaken to the core. It still hurts a bit. I’ll probably have a black eye in the morning.
You think hard about it. Because I only have one good eye, my depth perception is shite! I’ve never been able to see anything but light and dark! No shapes, just black and white forms. So, to all of a sudden have something you’ve never had is overwhelming! Whatever that bloody band did to give me vision still lingers a bit. I’ve GOT COLOUR!!! I’ve never had colour in that eye before!
I’m going to have to see the eye doc, and see if he can’t knock me around a bit to bring back my vision permanently! Anyone need a sparring partner? I’m dangerous with one eye much less two! Jaysus…That was awesome!!!
Just in case you are wondering, I can’t see out of my left eye because the optic nerve for that eye never grew into place. Spinal meningitis is to blame.
The song in the video below is by Lenny Kravitz. He’s a cool cat! The song is talkin’ ‘bout a lady he’s missing, but I miss me full vision at the moment! At least, I know what the rest of you people see, even if only for about 30 seconds. Bastards…
I have been trying to finish a series of post from Ireland for the last couple of days, but to be honest; something has been bugging me for more than a week. I’ve been a bit out of sorts. Wounds always heal, but they sometimes leave a nasty scar that smacks you in the face every morning.
I worshiped the ground my father walked on while growing up. He was my hero. The man could and still can turn anything into gold. He can straight faced tell you that he shot Abraham Lincoln and you’d believe it. He can fictionalise anything on the fly. And, you wonder where I get it from?
About six or seven months ago, we started communicating again after years of estrangement. We’ve had our kerfuffles over the years, but I generally stayed away from him for my mother’s sake. I have been his sparring partner most of my life. Of course, I had no desire to spar with anyone as a kid, but I kind of enjoyed knocking him on his ear once when I was 16. I was a wee lad at that age.
Over the past few months we’ve grown closer. I’ve been able to bounce words off of him instead of fist which is a rare feat. He has given me advice and even encouraged me to move to Ireland, if that is what I truly want to do. I’ve told him about the women I’ve loved, the one that got away, and the myriad of others that I’m constantly chasing after. That kind of talk gets his undivided attention. I told him how I felt like I got shafted and deserved another shot.
We’ve talked about my Mum, which is a very touchy subject. They had a very…very nasty divorce. In short, all men, including myself, have a weakness for women. It is not as much a weakness for him, as it is an essence that drives him.
At the time, they had seven different businesses that my mother and her secretaries ran. They had a paving company, a grading company, a landscaping company, a battery company, an automotive repair shop, a real estate company, and an entertainment company (arcade/go-carts). All of that was liquidated during the divorce. Millions of dollars were thrown around along with slanderous words. I didn’t go to any of the proceedings.
Me and the one sister that I had at the time (1995) were given property and trust funds. My dad apologised for his mistakes but it was too late. My mother had put up with it for too many years. They only fought over a few things, one of which was my old truck that he and I built in ‘89, I think. He didn’t let go of it easily.
The truck in question has been in my procession ever since. I have watched over it, bathed it, and kept it in working order. There are a lot of good memories of me and pops working on that old 56 Ford Pickup. It was the only time that we could have a real conversation with one another.
After returning from Ireland a few weeks ago, I decided to sell the old hunk of steel. So, I called up me pops and asked if he wanted to buy it. He was delighted at the news. We had lunch and he told me what he wanted to do to it. I could see the excitement in his eyes, as he showed my sisters the truck and told them about us building it. It was like he was able to relive a good part of his life that he had put away.
Well, the feuding over the truck ensued between my parents. It was like I was reliving all of that garbage over again. He took the high road and she took the low road on this one. She held the title and wouldn’t relinquish it. He washed his hands of the entire fiasco. He has a “New” life and didn’t need the drama, so she won.
Ever since they talked on the phone, he’s not answered my calls. I called him on “Father’s” day, but to no avail. I do not even know where the man lives. You know, I’m going to be leaving here in two months for a long while. I really need to talk to me pops, but I can’t spar with him over the phone or in the ring if he doesn’t answer the phone.
I went about five years one time without talking to him. I couldn’t do that now! I’ve learned that we don’t really know what tomorrow will bring, so it is best to make amends with those that we are feuding with. Tis not good to go to bed mad at anyone.
After work today, I came home and went straight out to my garage/sparring ring/gym/sauna. While beating the living hell out of the unfortunate boxing bag, I caught a glimpse of my neighbour out of the sweaty corner of my eye. He was standing outside the door hollering over the thrums of a shortwave radio sitting atop an antique refrigerator in the corner. I paused to speak to him and realised that there was blood oozing down two fingers of my martial arts gloves. He said I had been furiously hitting that bag like it was someone for a straight half hour without pausing. While dripping with sweat and still shaking from adrenaline, I nodded and looked at my watch that was in my pocket and realised that he was right.
I ran in the house and cleaned up my hand. The nylon seam and friction had cut into my pinky. He hung around for a bit, had a beer, and playfully sparred with me. He said he’d never seen me so mad in the seven years we’ve been neighbours. He grabbed another beer out of my antique fridge and held the bag for a bit, ‘til my hand started bleedin’ again. No pain, no gain, right?
Sometimes you have to fight for what you want. Sometimes the beautiful words I scribe, the pictures I take,, and the sketches I draw don’t cut the mustard. Sometimes you have to fight for every breath. I’ve always been a fighter. I’ve had to fight to stay alive most of my life. I don’t like to fight, because I am afraid of what I’d do to the other man. As I told a guy recently that was asking for it, “I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid of what I’d do to you”.
I, like my father, am small boned. We’re not big boned people. I’m starting to understand why he felt the need to beat the crap out of people two feet taller than him and become a legend in these parts. Mind you, I’ll not follow his path on child rearing. No effing way! I have never and will never hit a woman! And, I will never ever hurt a child. I’ll learn to deal with it in my own way. Tis not in my nature to be mean, sly maybe, but never mean.
I’ll be out there tomorrow evening hitting that bag and jumping rope. But, I’ll be doing it to get in shape, not feed the fury that rages inside of all of us.
There’s a beer in the fridge for you, pops.
I didn’t really know where this post was going, when I sat down here to write it. It’s still a bit of a mess, but you get the general idea, I hope? Karma has a crazy way of playing you from time to time. My dad now lives with three of my sisters and their mother. That’s four women against my short and getting old pops. I love it! Let me add that he worships the ground those girls walk on. He’s very mild and quite mannered these days.
