I met a guy who....
knew a guy who paints 'no parking' signs. I told the guy to send the guy around as I was in dire need of some 'no parking'.
Actually the guy paints the symbol for 'no parking', you know, the circle with the letter 'E' and a line drawn through it.
A day or two later the guy shows up. He's riding a bicycle with his equipment in a plastic bag tied to the handlebars. He appeared to be about 45, with a wide brimmed straw hat and piercing eyes that seemed to be awfully wide open for ordinary seeing. A bushy moustache with stubble over the rest of his face. Some how, what with the hat, stubble and the unsettling gaze he reminded me of Van Gogh.
We struck a deal. The curb, the width of the house was to be painted yellow. That alarming yellow that the transit authorities use to give one pause. Or, as my daugther, has named it: headache yellow. Also, two of the circular 'no parking ' symbols. One, on the cement of the driveway,is to be large, about the size of a super party pizza. The second, about the size of a medium pizza on the folding doors of the entrance.
Van Gogh commences with a flurry. The curb is done in a jffy. He has a homemade template 'patron' cut from cardboard which is traced on the cement and door. His 'no parking' symbols are of four colors not the standard two colored type.
The first circle is solid white, then a big black 'E', a narrow red circle around the white with a red diagonal line crossing the 'E'. To top off, the whole thing is circled by a five inch wide band of headache yellow. Color me pleased. See if the A's can ignore this.
The painter was unusually talkative. Many Mexican workman are not, they go about their business silently and rarely look up. I stayed out front with him most the time. I've learned this is a smart move if one expects to get anything like what one has paid for.
I noticed old Van had an eye for the ladies, of all ages. As they passed he gave each and every one the them a spooky stare with his too wide eyes. Nobody returned his look. He told me he was about half crazy over woman. Couldn't stop admiring them. I asked if he were a single man and he said no.
The painter went on to mention that he used to drink a lot. We chatted warmly on that subject for a while. Now, he said, he could no longer drink very much. Liver? I asked. No, it makes me nuts. he answered. He said he uses marijuana now because it doesn't make him aggresive.
Van Gogh, it seems, had led a life of drug experimentation. He told me he used to do a lot of cocaine, oh, I replied. Acid too. Well, I thought, that explains the eyes . He liked peyote. And, mushrooms.
He went on until he finished painting. I had quit listining somewhere around the mushrooms. All I could think of is how thankful I was that I had not run into this guy thirty years ago.
QUOTE OF THE DAY:
Life is a foreign language and all men mispronounce it - Christopher Morley
MEXICO ( as I see it):
Once Mexicans leave the confines of their homes they
consider themselves in hostile territory.
AND
I have been told that the small doors that one sees on many of the older homes were designed as such to prevent the men from riding their horses inside. Talk about some 'machismo'.
THE SERIAL Her Viking:
We left off here...
Once she located him she was amazed at how close he appeared. It all seemed a little too intimate, as if the Widow Mora were violating the stranger in some way. In a minute this uneasiness passed and she began to relish the advantage the field glasses gave her.
Her Viking did, indeed, have an impassive expression. The widow could not judge if he appeared determined, preoccupied or exactly what message his manner was conveying. She still couldn't see the color of his eyes but she could tell they were not dark. The binoculars did reveal, however, other interesting details she would not have been able to see with the naked eye, like his white eyebrows and the fact that his beard, although full, was neatly trimmed.
The widow wondered if her Viking had always worn a beard. Also, did he trim it himself or would he allow someone to do it for him?
She slowly moved the binoculars over his body, studying his feet and calves, his neck and shoulders and his stomach, which had become a little paunchy through the years but, the widow decided, was still well within acceptable limits. All in all, the Widow Mora was satisfied with the enhanced inspection of her Viking. Perhaps he was not quite as handsome as she had made him out to be but, still, she considered him an attractive man.
She kept the binoculars trained on the man while she envisioned dinners by candlelight and having coffee in the morning sun on the balcony with her Viking.
"Oh," she remembered, "I must clean that balcony, I suppose it's a dreadful sight. I'll ask Cee Cee to have her foolish old uncle come up and take care of it.
"Cee Cee," she called, "Where are you? Come up to my room and bring the coffee."
After a while Cee Cee shuffled into the widow's bedroom carrying a small clay pot of steaming coffee and a cup.
"Cee Cee I want you to get your uncle to clean the leaves and sand off the breakfast balcony."
"What uncle señora?" asked the leathery old woman.
"Your Uncle Pepino or whatever his name is. The one who always cleaned outside for the señor."
"Do you mean Uncle Pepe?" said Cee Cee.
"Yes, that's it, Pepe, you go for him and tell him to do it today." she demanded.
"Pepe is dead señora." the old woman said.
"What?
"Pepe's dead."
"Dead? When Cee Cee, when did your uncle die?' the Widow Mora asked, unsettled at hearing the news.
"Four years ago señora," answered Cee Cee.
"Oh," replied the widow, "I see. Well, when there's time try sweeping the balcony a bit, won't you."
"Si, señora," the old woman said, closing the bedroom door.
After a day or two with the binoculars the Widow Mora had become very comfortable with them and considered them indispensable. She placed them on the window sill where they remained at the ready. Along with the little serving table filled with her toiletries, the widow had Cee Cee put a small, straight backed, chair by the window so she could be seated as she waited for her Viking each morning.
Following his invariable procedure every day, the widow became enthralled with it but, was having no success making sense of it. However, she was happy with her tiny discoveries about him; like, seeing no evidence of jewelry and wondering if her Viking had ever worn any. Perhaps he was simply concerned that he might break a clasp while walking the beach. Once dropped, the widow knew, nothing could be found in the sand.
She asked herself if he might like a gold bracelet. It would go nicely with his tanned skin and strong arms.
continued....
Actually the guy paints the symbol for 'no parking', you know, the circle with the letter 'E' and a line drawn through it.
A day or two later the guy shows up. He's riding a bicycle with his equipment in a plastic bag tied to the handlebars. He appeared to be about 45, with a wide brimmed straw hat and piercing eyes that seemed to be awfully wide open for ordinary seeing. A bushy moustache with stubble over the rest of his face. Some how, what with the hat, stubble and the unsettling gaze he reminded me of Van Gogh.
We struck a deal. The curb, the width of the house was to be painted yellow. That alarming yellow that the transit authorities use to give one pause. Or, as my daugther, has named it: headache yellow. Also, two of the circular 'no parking ' symbols. One, on the cement of the driveway,is to be large, about the size of a super party pizza. The second, about the size of a medium pizza on the folding doors of the entrance.
Van Gogh commences with a flurry. The curb is done in a jffy. He has a homemade template 'patron' cut from cardboard which is traced on the cement and door. His 'no parking' symbols are of four colors not the standard two colored type.
The first circle is solid white, then a big black 'E', a narrow red circle around the white with a red diagonal line crossing the 'E'. To top off, the whole thing is circled by a five inch wide band of headache yellow. Color me pleased. See if the A's can ignore this.
The painter was unusually talkative. Many Mexican workman are not, they go about their business silently and rarely look up. I stayed out front with him most the time. I've learned this is a smart move if one expects to get anything like what one has paid for.
I noticed old Van had an eye for the ladies, of all ages. As they passed he gave each and every one the them a spooky stare with his too wide eyes. Nobody returned his look. He told me he was about half crazy over woman. Couldn't stop admiring them. I asked if he were a single man and he said no.
The painter went on to mention that he used to drink a lot. We chatted warmly on that subject for a while. Now, he said, he could no longer drink very much. Liver? I asked. No, it makes me nuts. he answered. He said he uses marijuana now because it doesn't make him aggresive.
Van Gogh, it seems, had led a life of drug experimentation. He told me he used to do a lot of cocaine, oh, I replied. Acid too. Well, I thought, that explains the eyes . He liked peyote. And, mushrooms.
He went on until he finished painting. I had quit listining somewhere around the mushrooms. All I could think of is how thankful I was that I had not run into this guy thirty years ago.
QUOTE OF THE DAY:
Life is a foreign language and all men mispronounce it - Christopher Morley
MEXICO ( as I see it):
Once Mexicans leave the confines of their homes they
consider themselves in hostile territory.
AND
I have been told that the small doors that one sees on many of the older homes were designed as such to prevent the men from riding their horses inside. Talk about some 'machismo'.
THE SERIAL Her Viking:
We left off here...
Once she located him she was amazed at how close he appeared. It all seemed a little too intimate, as if the Widow Mora were violating the stranger in some way. In a minute this uneasiness passed and she began to relish the advantage the field glasses gave her.
Her Viking did, indeed, have an impassive expression. The widow could not judge if he appeared determined, preoccupied or exactly what message his manner was conveying. She still couldn't see the color of his eyes but she could tell they were not dark. The binoculars did reveal, however, other interesting details she would not have been able to see with the naked eye, like his white eyebrows and the fact that his beard, although full, was neatly trimmed.
The widow wondered if her Viking had always worn a beard. Also, did he trim it himself or would he allow someone to do it for him?
She slowly moved the binoculars over his body, studying his feet and calves, his neck and shoulders and his stomach, which had become a little paunchy through the years but, the widow decided, was still well within acceptable limits. All in all, the Widow Mora was satisfied with the enhanced inspection of her Viking. Perhaps he was not quite as handsome as she had made him out to be but, still, she considered him an attractive man.
She kept the binoculars trained on the man while she envisioned dinners by candlelight and having coffee in the morning sun on the balcony with her Viking.
"Oh," she remembered, "I must clean that balcony, I suppose it's a dreadful sight. I'll ask Cee Cee to have her foolish old uncle come up and take care of it.
"Cee Cee," she called, "Where are you? Come up to my room and bring the coffee."
After a while Cee Cee shuffled into the widow's bedroom carrying a small clay pot of steaming coffee and a cup.
"Cee Cee I want you to get your uncle to clean the leaves and sand off the breakfast balcony."
"What uncle señora?" asked the leathery old woman.
"Your Uncle Pepino or whatever his name is. The one who always cleaned outside for the señor."
"Do you mean Uncle Pepe?" said Cee Cee.
"Yes, that's it, Pepe, you go for him and tell him to do it today." she demanded.
"Pepe is dead señora." the old woman said.
"What?
"Pepe's dead."
"Dead? When Cee Cee, when did your uncle die?' the Widow Mora asked, unsettled at hearing the news.
"Four years ago señora," answered Cee Cee.
"Oh," replied the widow, "I see. Well, when there's time try sweeping the balcony a bit, won't you."
"Si, señora," the old woman said, closing the bedroom door.
After a day or two with the binoculars the Widow Mora had become very comfortable with them and considered them indispensable. She placed them on the window sill where they remained at the ready. Along with the little serving table filled with her toiletries, the widow had Cee Cee put a small, straight backed, chair by the window so she could be seated as she waited for her Viking each morning.
Following his invariable procedure every day, the widow became enthralled with it but, was having no success making sense of it. However, she was happy with her tiny discoveries about him; like, seeing no evidence of jewelry and wondering if her Viking had ever worn any. Perhaps he was simply concerned that he might break a clasp while walking the beach. Once dropped, the widow knew, nothing could be found in the sand.
She asked herself if he might like a gold bracelet. It would go nicely with his tanned skin and strong arms.
continued....
posted by bbuckman | 3:27 PM
1 Comments:
There's something familiar about this Van Gogh character...
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