The End of An Era. The fires have burned out, never again to be lit. The stacks and stacks of wood, once reaching precariously for the sky, have disappeared. The symphony of the Chevy truck, the other Chevy truck, the 70s motorhome, the dirt bike, the chainsaw, the lawn mower, the hotrod and the lowrider idling simultaneously (and in perfect harmony) has been silenced. No longer will I hear the pop/fizz of the opening of endless cans of Bow Valley Lager punctuating the cackles and guffaws describing the uselessness of rice burners. The relentless vigil over the empties barrel, and the warding-off of the can thieves has ceased. Never again will the somber strains of Delta Dawn on repeat waft from his garage to mine, and in the future, Urgent and The Boys in the Bright White Sportscar will trigger wistful memories of summer days past when I would be ridiculed and chastised for my poor technique in oiling bicycle chains, for John the neighbor and his gal (hes only ever referred to her as Mama, but Im pretty sure her name is Norma Jean- how fitting!) are the brand-new owners of a mobile home. He was a simple man, and at heart, a good man. He thought that what I do for a living wasnt work (I cant believe people pay you to sit around and do nothing all day. he once said to me), but if push came to shove, hed help me figure out what was wrong with my silly Honda. He once told me that Tom Waits sounded like a crazy homeless bum yelling in a scrapyard, and hes kind of right, so with this, I bid my neighbor of the last 6 years adieu. John, John / Hes long gone / Gone to Irricana, aint never comin home.
Posted on: Wed, 01 Oct 2014 23:32:25 +0000
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