a spring celebration of life

Good Morning,

There is a message on my phone I can't erase. it goes...

'this is Bill. just callin' to see what you was doin.' talk to you later." (beeeep)

i don't find it healthy to live in the past but i do believe in giving voice to those that have deeply touched our lives. Bill was my "Fishing Buddy" (nooooo, i don't really fish...) who passed away this time last year (that was essentially the last time we talked).

the best way i could think to celebrate him was to share something i've written about our time together. the below is from the "Monday Morning News" archive. i wrote this as a journal type entry as i was preparing to join Bill and the Old Farts Club for a couple days of fishing at Lake Eire.

hope you enjoy.

happy monday,

amanda

p.s. IF this is too much of a downer. i also have a link here Bill would've enjoyed. i say everyone needs a good fishing buddy to appreciate a good hemorrhoids jingle. the question for the day...how else are you supposed to suffer? the singers want you to not suffer in silence! just be very positive and outspoken with it... at the office: oh boy Kathy do my hemorrhoids hurt!!!

http://www.mwhtc.com/html/spots.html



Breakfast at Stan's


Is it safe for a young woman to take a trip with a group of “guys guys?” I assure you, I am not a woman who wears a tube top and Daisy Dukes and is then surprised when she goes to the frat party and someone pinches her…

What follows is my account of another breakfast at Stan’s Restaurant.


4-3-04

Breakfast with Bill—7:30am, Sat. morning

I always think it’s funny when I arrive at the shop i.e., Bill’s place. He’s always got a hot rod he’s “workin” on…

I’ve come to know them as the “Got MTR” (license plate) yellow car…the black one with the “Get in sit down shut up and hold on” decal/sticker car…etc.

There’s no Bud today. That is Bill’s buddy Bud sometimes he joins us…today Bud’s fishing in Tennessee. Bill thinks it’s too early. He went with them last year. They had a bunch a bad weather. Bill knows it’s not yet fishing season…but it’s always the right season for working on cars.

The yellow car is on the hydraulic lift. “Ooo workin on that one today?” I ask and admire the big fat black tires…that say Hoosier…the painted on flames…and a HUGE engine. This hot rod has a long skinny nose like a dragster… and two smallish motorcycle sized tires in the front…

Got MTR? (Got Motor?)

“What you workin on today?” I ask. “The blower? The fuel gage? Oil change?”

“Naw see that seat over there?”

“Yep.”

“I’m widen it again…my ass is too big.”

We both laugh. Bill’s not a fat man and not too proud to share when life’s shifted on him a bit.

That’s Bill in a nutshell. Right now perhaps who I’d call my best friend or maybe just the person who I feel closest to when life has shifted on me a bit. Life with Bill is simple, it’s not gonna change.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks.

“Stan’s.”

Stans our comfortable routine.

I get in the big truck after only three leg swings today—I always have to hold on and hike it up there (my leg) at 7:30am I’m not too mobile. We laugh about it and Bill makes encouraging comments about the progress of my lifting…

“Can ya get it (my leg) up there?” he asks and offers me an arm. I hold on, then pull with all my arm strength, again--swwiing!--I miss it but just barely.

I grab onto the “Oh Jesus” handle over head and finally …”oh Jesus!” I hoist and I’m in…

“You’re doin real good with that…” Bill cheers and says “next week we’ll have you in in one swing.

************


7:50 am Sittin high, ridin proud, I’m a lady in a truck! A BIG truck…

To get to Stan’s we travel through not so nice parts of town but I always like it in the morning, everything seems fresh and innocent in the quiet of morning…

Even the HUGE water tower…the debris at the bottom, reminds me of a big F-4 tornado…

“Yeah this isn’t such a nice neighborhood” says Bill. Bill’s always my tour guide.

We pass a gravel pit parking lot, an old rundown building…

He points out the “Shark-rod” some guy (I’m assuming male) made a car that looks like a shark. He painted it gray, detailed in a shark face…put …teeth on it. The “Shark car” sits up on blocks, hard to miss.

A yard with a dirty billboard sign…behind it—“that’s where people leave their shopping carts…”

“You mean people just leave the store with them?” I can’t really imagine…

“Yeah people don’t care…”

(well I do…that’s a lot of pushing)

******

The 10min. ride to Stan’s…is my favorite…just time me and Bill, cruisin, movin, mosy-in through the world…no one can get in our way…I’m proud as a peacock…I’m sittin in a truck!

I just hate the conversation where he says “it don’t matter” or “guys just don’t care.”

Said it again…dang…I hate it when he says people don’t care…some do I care!

“Hear about my son?”

“Which one?”

“Billy.”

“No what happened?”

“He was in that fire.”

Billy is a fireman. Relieved, I learn he has done something heroic. Bill has four adult sons…that range from heroic to…hopeless (I said “hey Bill what does Kevin your youngest do?” He said “Kevin? Kevin sleeps”).

We talk about…well…

Bill says “I wake up every 2 hours for urination…(I know he’s been to the doctor’s. Bill would say pee not urination) since my prostrates all swelled up pushin on it.”

Bill’s Prostate cancer is doing well right now. His bad number is low which is very good. I honestly don’t know (nor I imagine does he) how much time is left on the clock…What’s the prognosis?…long term…not good….so, I like to check to make sure he’s takin his medication and getting his shots. Them female hormones…is what Bill calls them.

(I figure he’ll talk if/when he wants to talk about it).

8:02am
At the restaurant, I’m delivered to the front door like a queen so I can hang on to the gumball machine where I wait until Bill parks the truck. At 8:02am there’s still a fight going on between me and my walkin muscles.

What I like about Stan’s…

There’s plastic food on the wall—an egg, piece of bacon and a piece a toast. They’re not wall clocks…I always try to check the time on the egg…then the bacon…thinking surely they have numbers on them…nope that’s just an egg, bacon and a piece of toast.

I’m also very fond of Bill and Bud’s (and now my) favorite waitress…named “Squirrel.” (It’s a nickname, I know that now…I always look to Bill is it Hazel nut? Hickery bean? What is it?)

She was patient while I learned the syrup…”Excuse me yes, uh, Squirrel can I have the syrup?”

“You already do.”

“What?”

“It’s on your table.”

Where? I’m sure I looked around like a crotchety old man…someone’s stolen my food!

Oooh syrup comes in ready to go little packets, like the jam, like ketchup…just open and pour…

“I can’t believe you eat a pancake like that.”

Bill laughs as I open up a little wedged shaped area…there’s a method, a strategy for keeping the pancake fresh and cake-like not soggy.

I explain, but not too much I know he doesn’t care and has bad hearing. I like to save my talk and his ears for the important things like

(Bill eats grits, French Toast and bacon…sometimes eggs)

“I’m going to come fishing in May!”

Bill, smiles stops…”Are you?” he seems very pleased. “You’ll have fun.”

Oh, I’m not so sure, but the cast has been set

Just a thought to squirrel away…

*****
8:47am --The drive home

Bill says “You don’t wanna park your car out on this street”

“Why not?”

“Every car parks on this street gets hit?”

“They drunk?” I can’t imagine a street with drivers that bad.

“Yeah if they’s smart, people live here they’d park in the yard or up on the sidewalk.”

Uh my brain…yep, not too concerned about appearances here. I find it liberating re-freshing.

Bill continues…“Lady I knew parked her car on this street she came back and the backend was all smashed in on it…wadn’t a note on it or nothin…drunk people don’t care.”

I do. I care…

How he gave his ex-mother-in-law’s dog a haircut…how his dog Max, a schnauzer, played fetch with rubber hoses and hung out in the shop. I can tell how much Bill liked him…He says”Max was a good dog. Liked to take showers. loved em. would take two a week.”…I CARE how he made sure the water temp was just right so the dog didn’t get scalded.

*****
9:03am
Back at the garage to hang out.

Nature calls…Bill has to have a certain kind a surgery folks would rather not say…

“I took those two little pills last night thought I was bound up…”

(My heart goes out to him) he dances around makes a quick exit, but first hands me the remote to the BIG screen TV every programmed channel leads to a fishing show.

9:22am
Bob the black guy comes over. Bill says “he’s a real good guy just born the wrong color…”

Bill lives in a bad neighborhood, down the corner from a bar. The patrons are largely black, largely poor. The owner is running a shady business on the side. This is why I’m only allowed to come over on Saturday mornings. The rest of the time Bill stays locked in his apartment. He doesn’t like the seedy characters, coming and going at all hours, but oh well that’s the way it is.

He’s never had a night’s peace,..loud music, guys runnin’ their cars, trash in the street…Bill sleeps each night, with a metal baseball bat next to the door… one day he might have to use it.

Bill likes Bob the black guy. He’s helping Bob build his first hot rod.


When Bill says “he’s the only black I let in here…”

I let it slide.

I suppose if life were different. I might talk this way too.