Our Trip South.

 

If our smallest car runs out of coolant on our trip South, I've decided to be the 'big man' and take full responsibility. It never doesn't get old when one's personal characteristics come under official scrutiny. We all live with the knowledge that our days of casting furtive glances cannot continue much longer without a major upgrade. If you try to tell the least among us how and where they might find a new and refreshing pattern, they could go on to surprise those whose doors remain closed to uncomfortable truths. When leafing through uncountable pages of a piebald hodge-podge, it might serve the interests of well ensconced cineastes if some exceptions could be spelled out in excruciating detail. For what reason could anyone feel free to destroy the reputation of an entire generation of indoctrinated potentates? None that I can think of, that's why.

When I returned to my place of birth in the Lower Maritimes, I encountered a man who, for all intents and purposes, could be a virtual stranger to my extended family and its future prospects. When I glared seductively at the back of his head while he pretended to adjust the artificial cord that sometimes extends from his left elbow just prior to an infinitesimal explosion, he caught the vibe and pointed to a spot on the wall which could, he said, constitute a clue left by a former inmate. I had my doubts but was willing to follow him into the outer yard where he proceeded to make a primitive illustration in the dirt with the tip of his left shoe. It was a series of lines, most just slightly off-center, and some boldly curved. He told me that if I or anyone in my family ever thought it wise to cast aspersions on this diagram, it would cause him a deep personal pain. I let him know that this was a very unusual situation and that I would need to consult my psychiatric attorney. As it happens, I'm not the 'first funster' to play this game. This goes back years and so far, no one has any idea how it will end or who will get hurt.

In the following weeks I received a letter from a trusted friend. It told of a secret internal journey he'd made at the behest of his defrocked Pastor. When my Supervisor got hold of a makeshift service belt that I'd left behind the radiator in the infant breakroom, he asked if I'd consider getting a vasectomy. I replied point-blank to his face. I used some very bold language. No one seemed able to get through to me. I wondered if perhaps some mistake had been made. After that I calmed down with a bowl of chili. To be perfectly honest, it's very obvious that my future depends on my developing an ability to paint innocent and bland nature scenes. This will free up time to deal with my love addiction. As if you care... (HA!)

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