Tuesday, December 3, 2019

A short contemplation on compassion


The Price of Broccoli

“I wonder if she has moved away? Haven’t seen the car there in ages.”
“I haven’t seen any other cars there, either. Maybe she’s moved into a home.”
“Probably forced to give it up.”
“A car’s not cheap. She could take a taxi for supplies and back three times a week for what a car costs.”
“With money left over for a trip to Disney.”
“She’s tough. I'll give her that. There’s never a thing out of place.”
“Except the weeds.”
“I think the weeds are intentional. No lawn to cut.”
“Lots of patches.”
“Her trailer must be more than sixty years old. That patch on the corner’s been there as long as I can remember.”
“A new patch or two every year. That bigger one gets bigger every year. It’s a wonder it holds the heat.”
“Was she even there last winter? Maybe she moves in with family in the winter.”
“No wood pile – must be expensive to heat.”
“She can afford the newspaper every day.”
“Never see a light. Not that we drive much at night.”
“I don’t like driving at night anymore – or in the rain.”
“You’re getting old.”
“You’re keeping up.”
“So is everyone else out here. If it wasn’t for church and cards you’d think every house was empty.”
“And their cars.”
“They hardly leave the yards save for church, cards and on cheque day.”
“Cheques don’t go far.”

~~

“That was like going to a wake.”
“What?”
“Going for groceries. Old people paying their respects to the meat cooler. Walking by slowly, sadly, bending over to squint at the prices shaking their heads. Like reading the cards on funeral flowers.”
“Ha. And that distant smile recollecting a time when meat was a part of their lives.”
“Can’t afford the vegetables for that matter. Even when it’s on sale – half the time the lettuce is brown and so is the cauliflower. Broccoli’s so old it’s gone to seed, and they charge double for it.”
“Maybe free trade with Europe will bring down the price of cheese.”
“And sausages.”
“And Italian paper.”
“There’s a few clothes on the line today.”
Not many. Well worn. That red sweater’s seen better days.”
“You have to admire that she manages all alone.”
“Someone must look in on her. Families are close around here.”

~~

“Two papers there this morning.”
“It’s been raining.”
“Not yesterday.”
“True.”
“So, what’s on the list today?”
“If we are going for coffee, let’s do that first – before groceries. We need milk.”
“And meat. And I want to go to Canadian Tire.”
“Again?”
“I want to price paint for the bedroom.”
“Just don’t ask me what colour.”
“Or to help. I know.”
“You know I’m poor at painting.”
“So you keep reminding me.”
“That porch could do with some new paint.”

~~

“Watch out!”
“Jesus – good thing there was nothing coming. No tourists.”
“That pothole gets bigger every week.”
“Sinkhole, more like it.”
“I’m going to call the Highways again. Someone’s going to lose a wheel.”
“Curtains are still closed.”
“Against the cold, maybe. Windows are frosted.”
“Light’s on in the kitchen; you can see where the curtains are thin.”
“How do you know it’s the kitchen?”
“All trailers had the same layout for years.”
“Bright out. Wouldn’t need a light on if the curtains were open. Not like her to waste, I wouldn’t think.”

~~

“She’ll have to watch it on the ice. Can’t risk a fall at her age.”
“How old did you say?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know. Eighties, I’d say.”
“Likely.”
“Did someone keep her clear last winter? I don’t remember.”
“Doesn’t need it plowed if she doesn’t drive.”
“Someone must need to drive her up to the door. Bring her groceries.”
“True. It’s just the first snow, anyway. It’ll be gone in a couple of days.”
“Do you have the list? Where to first?”
“We need meat. And eggs. So, Sobeys last. Coffee?”
“Coffee.”

~~

“I wish you’d slow down. It might be icy under the snow.”
“Damn slow getting the snow plow out this morning.”
“No, I heard it during the night.”
“Must have laid down some salt before the snow started. But it snowed harder than the forecast. They should have come around again by now.”
“I don’t know why we need to go to town this early anyway. We should have waited ’til later – ’til it’s plowed.”
“It’s cheque day. If we don’t get ahead of the crowd there won’t be a sprig of broccoli left worth having.”
“Slow down for the turn.”
“Lots of traffic there, this morning early. Between snowfalls.”
“Geez, nothing for months and now the whole town visits.”
“Least one of them could have cleared some snow away, instead of driving right through it. When that freezes no one’s going to get in or out.”
“Shell fall and break her hip one of these days.”
“Not like her though. She always used to keep the steps clean.”
“I wonder if she’s moved away. Or into a home.”
“Not by the look of the traffic this morning.”
“Maybe with family for the winter.”
“That would make sense. At least somebody would be looking out for her.”

=30=

Friday, November 8, 2019

Flash fiction - www.outta-site-self-storage.com



Well, the new shed is almost finished, and we should soon be able to reorganize the contents of our attic, basement and existing garden shed so they are more evenly or at least more practically distributed. Garden and lawn things, sorted. Sports equipment and car roof racks, sorted (at last). Firewood and ONLY firewood in the woodshed, sorted. Tools, nails, screws and paint, sorted. 

The guys at Wednesday coffee laugh and laugh. They know, from experience they say, that the laws of domestic physics state that just as water seeks its own level our belongings will multiply to first occupy and then outgrow available space.

They hold this to be true, and they may be on to something (as opposed to “on” something).  What community does not now have a self-storage enterprise somewhere within or near its bounds. Only the smallest of villages – like those named maps from the 1920s but which no longer have a church, school or post office, or houses for that matter – do not sport a campus of metal clad, multi-doored single-storey barns filled, we may presume, with everything from tires and inflatable Halloween lawn decorations to bed frames, small television sets, book cases and someone’s grandfather’s antique golf clubs.

Last week (November 2019) CBC news carried a soft story about the so-called second-hand economy. Apparently an academic research project out of Université de Québec à Montréal looked at the growth of the buying, selling – and I suppose, trading – of previously loved, gently used, down-but-not-out consumer goods over the last number of years. That study seems to indicate that we are becoming more conscious of our consumption and its impact on our wheezing world. People are prepared to settle for second hand – if not second best – just as people are prepared to capitalize on it. By the way, the study was commissioned by Kjiji, king of all things second hand. I heard it on CBC Nova Scotia, but Global had carried the story days before. You can link to their story here.

Some months ago, in a conversation among family members as we drove past a storage campus outside a small town in Cape Breton, we enjoyed a moment of mirth when someone quipped that people could alleviate clutter – and perhaps eliminate the need for the construction of new sheds – by having their on-line impulse purchases shipped directly to their storage unit. Around the same time, we learned that a prominent storage rental company in a city that need not be named for my purpose here, would soon be getting into the seniors residential care business. That gave me the idea for the following fictional advertisement.

It’s very short, because around the same time I hit upon a flash fiction competition looking for 250-word submissions (this version is slightly more than 250 now). The ad didn’t make the cut, but maybe you will like it, even if it is second hand. Enjoy.

~~

www.outta-site-self-storage.com

Enjoy the latest in self-storage services from Outta Site Self-storage – Leading the Way in Consumer Excess for 50 Years.

Outta Site Self-storage understands that the urge to have it all conflicts with the need to live small.

Our most prized possessions are those we cannot afford. Keeping pace with both the pint-sized and up-sized needs of today’s consumers, Outta Site solutions mean that you CAN own the latest must-have countertop appliances whether your fashionable new tiny house has room for them or not. 

Now, Outta Site has partnered with the world’s leading on-line retailers, to create Outta Site Direct. Avoid the inevitable by having purchases shipped directly to storage! 

There’s more. Introducing Outta Site Plus app and subscription. We’ll send you a digital photo of your purchase to display, AND we’ll block your on-line purchase if you have two or more already in storage.

Outta Site Plus subscribers pre-qualify for preferred pricing for Outta Site ESP Home when it’s rolled out next year. ESP (extrasensory purchasing) Home anticipates subscriber needs using our patented “always-on” telepathic cloud connection. See something on-line that you really like? ESP Home will not only sense your desire, it will initiate the purchase! Outta Site Self-storage will take delivery and notify you that it’s safely stored.

Finally. If your modern family is frustrated by guilt over the contradiction between concern for an elder and concern for a clutter-free existence, watch for Outta Sight, Outta Mind. Care for Granny, without the smell. Outta Site Granny Flats are now under construction at many of Outta Site self-storage campuses.

Click here to receive our monthly newsletter, and subscribe today.

=30=



Thursday, January 17, 2019

“I Know You’re There”


I’ve been meaning to share the below poem (“I Know You’re There” by Alexander Hamilton) for a while but haven’t found the time ’til now.
The poem was a finalist at the Tarbert Book Festival, October passed (2018). I was quite taken by it, and by the preamble spoken by its author, Alexander Hamilton, in which he described the ruins of nearby habitations at Leac na Ban (Tayvallich, by Lochgilphead, Argyll), known locally as “the Tumbledowns.” Alexander and his wife Polly are artists who have a seasonal gallery at Leac na Ban.

Alexander clarified for me that “Leac na Ban is first recorded as a settlement in the middle ages, and there is evidence of pre-historic activity, 'tho the local museum calls them 'anomalies'. Fourteen families are recorded as living here in the rent rolls of 1786. The township is split by a dry stone dyke that runs up the hill either side into the common grazings. One side of the dyke became North Leac na Ban our side became South Leac na Ban, which was the name as we bought it. We restored the original name as much as to stop people asking where North LnB was, and because it seemed right. There are a number of the original buildings still standing in a 'tumble down' condition.”
Working as I am on a number of short stories inspired by my own imaginings of people and places passed from the West Bay area, I am in a way haunted by them. The forest around here obscures the ruins of passed lives and livelihoods, but when you do stumble across “tumbledowns” it’s hard not to address them, as Alexander has.

“I know you’re there”
I know you’re there, I’ve seen you slipping past the building. 
Are you aware of me? As a shade? Or am I a draught at your neck?
Your house is now my barn, my beasts rest in your bed.
You were gone; your hearth put to good use, still sheltering.
I can see where the courses change, a new pattern of stone.
Filling the windows, extending the walls, a shooch.
I’ve seen you in the mornings when I go to the sheep.
Careworn face, shabby heavy clothes, hard living etched in every line.
Do you look at them too? Not a breed you will know
Not the hardy Blackface of your time and keeping.
Are you coming or going? Disappearing there, at the corner
Is your wife here with you? Your children, two boys,
Wasn’t there a lassie? Giggling, skipping.
I hear them in the stones, laughing, fighting, crying.
A second or two of sighting and then it’s as if you never were.
Is that your wife calling? Or the laverock singing?
Are the boys squabbling over a stick? Or is it the hoodies?
Does the wind carry your name? It says so much, and all in a hurry.
Are you there, in the rush and riot, in the drifting snow?
In the wild thrash of branches, clinging, fighting to stay.
Do you pass in the mist as the sun rises, driving your cattle to water?
Is this you just back from the hags? Will the boys help turn and stack?
None to answer these questions, and how could there be.
So much unsaid, unrecorded. None left to remember, to tell.
But I see you, bent, not bowed, defiant not defeated
Even if I don’t understand, I’ll mention you as I go.
For I know you’ll be here when I am gone.
And who comes after will also need to share.

Alexander Hamilton, 2018

(Shooch – drain; Laverock—skylark)