Goodby Old Friend

I am sad. My old friend who I mentioned in passing a couple weeks ago in Back to Work died last week. The friend who hired me for my first real job, a man who toured with the Rolling Stones as house-manager on the West-Coast section of the Sticky Fingers tour, who took American Conservatory Theater shows to successful Broadway launches and ran a theater back here – and who had a stroke several years ago is gone. And I am sorry I missed being a better and closer friend in recent years, pushed-off by the politics and the incursions of Ultra BayAryan Liberalism. I should have fought harder. My heart is full of tears.
UPDATE: David taught me to appreciate the sublime difference between various rotgut like Jack Daniels, and Scotch – and single-malt Scotch in particular. This opened the door to many things, and some evenings that I have little memory thereof. But I didn’t wind up a Scotch drinker, so tonight instead I hoist a glass of some old cane-juice squeezing; Barbados Mount Gay Rum, 1703 Old Cask Selection- and beg forgiveness and mercy. God bless you my friend, you were an incomparable story-teller of the Truth. I await the quiet voice of advice in my ear.

Back to Work

The brief pause in fix-it activity was a blessing. There is a reason to keep one day Holy and absent of work, so that the suffering is not prolonged unalterably. But we needed to get the closet finished and the door-stops done – and we did. The DeWalt screw-gun is a blessing, and so is the hammer-torque driver. And so is the battery-operated skill-saw.

Meanwhile I received a letter from my Old Friend and mentor who hired me for the first Real Job that I had, one with some responsibility and one that proved I could do it. He taught me to drink single-malt Scotch neat, and always had hair-raising stories – like when he was Stage Manager for the Rolling Stones “Sticky-Fingers” West-Coast Tour and had to provide Security for the mis-managed event at some Arizona University arena full of College Kids who were clueless… He had a stroke several years back and went from lopsided shuffling, to walking with a cane, to full wheel-chair invalidity. While I was between-jobs (on one of those many occasions), I acted as his butler – or something. He is a man with a precise and photographic memory, and the stroke had no effect on that or his speech, but the physical debilitation has had an un-happy cascading effect. On my calendar was a birthday reminder, and so I sent him a belated Birthday card/thank-you for taking a chance on me, the weird-kid all those years ago. He and his wife were close friends through my Theater years, and my girlfriend/now-wife attended many annual summertime Croquet-Tournaments/drinking-party that they hosted with other friends from that Theater Tribe. In later years and following a different career trajectory, and after his illness we were not as frequent visitors. But it was good to hear from them, very good, and they were both pleased to hear from me/us.
That’s it for now, partly. I picked up some nice actual-wood wooden screen doors that I will fit, they will allow for a cross-breeze and keep bugs-out on days when it’s not too hot and the A/C isn’t cranking. Oh-and the “lawn” -the one that’s decorative – not the wide expanse of Prairie – on the other side of the Ranch, needs mowing. And weeding.