Saturday, March 9, 2013

Normalism


Off We Go
Being careful not to do any further damage, I gently fold the screen of my laptop down, wrestle the broken hinge into submission and slip the computer into my Goodwill messenger bag. I don't know how many more times I will get away with this maneuver before the screen just falls off once and for all. This seventeen inch HP Pavilion has been quite the loyal soldier. Seven years old, though, and compared to computers, dog years ain't nothin'. This baby is an antique. The “u” and the “y” keys are missing, giving the keyboard a definite trailer park look, like all she wants for Christmas is her two front teeth. But she is hanging in there. I wonder how many thousands of words I have hammered out on this old warhorse? More than a few, I can tell you that. She has served me well as my home entertainment center and web surfer and jukebox and she has suffered the millions of thick-fingered keystrokes from my gorilla-like carpenter's hands for lo these many years.


How It Ought To Be
No trail mix or bananas go into the bag today. I am only pedaling the three miles to the library. They have free wi-fi and a lot of books. My kind of place. If only they served beer. Free beer...

“Hi. I'll have a 16 oz Dewey.”

“Here you go, sir. I'll need your library card, please.”

“Here you go.”

“Thank you. I'll just swipe it here...Oh my! Did you really read all these books? You must be really smart!”

“Oh, I am.  That's why I have to drink so much beer. It keeps my brain from over-heating. Can you check on there? I think I've read enough books this month to qualify for the Frequent Reader two-for-one Decimal Special.”

Florida
The weather today is so right that I feel guilty about it, but not much. As I like to say, I live in Florida on purpose. Craziness and over-development and manic-depressive cops and sharks and alligators and mosquitoes and face-eating maniacs be damned, the month of March in Florida is NICE. There will be some long rides coming, I think. I'm living on my bike these days, like a dream come true. Of course, like any dream come true, there are caveats carping in the background, but right now I'll just keep dreaming.


One Day, Long Ago
On my quick ride today I cross an intersection a block away from the library where I lost a friend fifteen years ago. His name was Rusty. After he and I finished a lazy March day working on a waterfront house for some rich young guy, Rusty jumped into his little pickup and blasted away to a cookout at his girlfriend's parent's house. He never made it. Some doofus in a 5.0 Mustang ran a stop sign and t-boned my buddy's truck in the middle of the intersection. Hard. Plenty hard. Hard enough to do the job.

But that tragedy ain't today's story.

“You were his boss?”

“Sorta. We were more like partners.”

“Well...was there, I mean, is there any kind of insurance...”

“No, man. You have to understand, around here carpenters are more like pirate crews...”

“Yeah, I get that, but my brother is dead and...” The guy had flown all the way from Ohio to bury his wild brother Rusty. Wild people are common in Florida. The ones too wild for Ohio end up here. This isn't a conversation I wanted to have at a funeral home, though. I was here to say goodbye.

“I'm really sorry, man.”

“I went to his apartment and except for his tools, almost everything he owned would fit into one cardboard box.. What kind of life is that?”

“Uh...as a matter of fact, those are my tools.” I was feeling his grief. I was feeling a little grief myself. But somehow, this brother seemed pissed at Rusty for leaving an estate that would fit into a little cardboard box. I could definitely tell he was also pissed at me for not...I don't know what he was pissed at me about. But Rusty was my buddy and I understood completely his free spirit and why the hell should a dead guy have a bunch of stuff? Rusty was one of the most light-hearted guys I ever knew. He refused to take life seriously and was always available to lend a hand or go out for a beer. He lived in a little pool house behind this rich lady's place on the beach and I never asked what the arrangements were but I don't think he paid much in the way of rent.

The Way
Without even knowing such a thing existed, my buddy Rusty was living a minimalist lifestyle. I'm trying to do the same myself, but I'm a carpenter-sub and I need my gear. It fills an 8x8 room in my trailer. Tools and equipment cleaned and oiled and ready. I don't go in there and dust them, but maybe I should. Lately I have been thinking about selling them. Why not? I think I could get enough to put together a touring kit for my bicycle. I certainly don't seem to be using my tools lately but I sure do use my bike. A lot. That's the way I want it.

I own little else. I don't even have a wall of books these days. That's what the library is for, I think. But minimalism is a silly term. It should be called normalism. Having too much stuff should be called something else, like bag-lady syndrome or packratalism. Or not...I really don't care. For me, possessions are a burden and source of guilt. I always feel like I am a poor caretaker of these things I own. They get dust on them and I feel bad about it. The multitude of of personal storage centers around the country are a testament to the having-too-much that afflicts our sensibilities as a decent people and it is why so many denizens of third-world countries try so desperately to get over here: they want to have too much stuff too. Some of them would be happy just to set up housekeeping in one of those personal storage units. I've done that.

What am I talking about? Who knows? You guys should be accustomed to it by now.

But there is definitely something on my mind. I know what it is. I'm struggling with my inner Thoreau and the need to...I almost can't say it: the need to re-join society and I howl in despair at the thought.

So Anyway...
At the library, I plug in my dilapidated old computer and fire her up. There is a new ticking sound as she begins her dark journey back to life. It won't be long now before I find myself writing my booger posts with pen and ink, hunting down a Xerox machine, making magically fragrant copies and mailing them to my readers postage-due. While I wait the twenty minutes or so it takes Windows to wake up on my worn-out old laptop, I go over to the reference desk to get a beer.

Rusty would have approved.

Whispering Pines Trailer Park and Wildlife Society
#102










19 comments:

  1. Rejoin society????? What on earth? Has your 2 wheeler gone chugging around the bend? (I, for one, would welcome you back but only because I want what makes you happy. How on earth would that make you happy?)

    I hope you realize you've come up with the one thing that might get Americans back to reading real books again, right? Free beer at the library! What an inspiration!

    Stay sane, my friend!

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  2. It is a pleasant thought, isn't it? Years ago I had the idea to open a combination saloon/laundramat. Suds 'n Duds. I got a million of 'em.

    Is it warming up in Virginia yet? Lots of ridin' time coming!

    As always, thanks for the support.

    tj

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    1. Suds and Duds! I love it!

      It was 65 on Sunday after 6 inches of snow on Weds. Got in a quick ride in the afternoon. More good weather coming!

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  3. I often think of my Dad and his last two years of life spent in the nursing home. Talk about minimalist lifestyle. Everything in one closet. He was Ok with his situation and said many times he was happy to be free of all the hassles of the stuff. My sisters were in charge of the divesting of a lifetime of stuff of my parents. I want to do the same but have the wife roadblock. I am just not ready to trade a life with my wife for a life of less stuff, so I compromise. It's all good!

    If you end up trading for the touring kit and end up as a gypsy out there on the road, I've got a bed and warm shower for you, but only when it is summer into the fall. You would not like it here in the winter/spring!!

    TLC for that computer buddy!

    Keep the wheels turning!
    Jim

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  4. Jim, when I was but a lad the school librarian turned me on to this book called "Dove" about a sixteen year-old who sailed around the world. I knew then that I would one day do the same. Never happened, life being what it is; but just in case I have ever since travelled as light as possible. I'm still doing it.

    tj

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  5. Rejoin society? We are society, my friend. The challenge if finding the tasty marrow that satisfies as we sort through the rust and decay that pulls at our body and soul.

    Be confident in your endeavor. You danger is not luffing. You have learned how to hold that sail tight and clean. The danger is pulling to tight and getting wet or worse, barreling head long into a pole jack.

    Here's toasting with a cold library beer that you sail to places that meets your need in flesh and spirit.

    Yer Pal
    Zig

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    Replies
    1. Fine advice, Zig. I do have a tendency to oversheet the sails. But I have tripped over plenty of waves in my day...

      These days I seem to be waiting for a berth, if not a boat of my own.

      tj

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  6. Put me on the mailing list for when the booger goes hard-copy only.
    Kinda wishing I could live a "normalist" lifestyle again. For a lot of years everything I owned fit into one room, including books, records, and my bike. Now, married with a kid, it's a constant battle to not end up with stuff, stuff, and more stuff. I'm gonna keep working on it.

    Cheers,
    Jonathan.

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    Replies
    1. Jonathan, sometimes I get preachy. I don't mean to do it, it just happens. And why not have a ton of stuff? I don't know. There is some kind of Secret of the Universe happening here, and having stuff always bugged me. But remember, I'm crazy. Remember also that I am fifty-seven years old and all my kith and kin have escaped to their own lives.

      What is kith? So much to know, so little time. Are memories possessions? Is knowledge a possession? There is a secret here somewhere...

      tj

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    2. Preachy doesn't bother me, and won't strike a chord unless its something I'm already dwelling on. Being the son of a preacher man has made me somewhat immune to evangelism in all its forms, so feel free to preach all you like: I'll just ignore what isn't relevant to me.
      But yeh, I'd happily have a lot less stuff than I have, but that kid just keeps accumulating stuff at a rate of knots. I don't buy a thing, but somehow every week there are new books, toys and clothes cluttering up his room. I blame the generosity of friends and family. And anyhow, if a bit of clutter is the price I have to pay for playing happy families then I'll take it.

      Jonathan.

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  7. Possesionism???? I managed to remove a wife and house from my life in the last year, but I still feel like I am lugging about too much stuff- always something to work on.

    Glad to hear you are living on your bike, I am living with lots of bike snd bits of bikes and parts of bikes but I think living ON a bike sounds like the way to go.

    In the words of the wise Homer (Simpson that is) "mmmmm beer" what an awesome idea. To your idea above there was a place in my college town of Corvallis Or, there was just such a Saloon/Laundromat called Suds N Suds. Great minds.

    Ryan

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    Replies
    1. Well, your bike tools can't be helped. Me too. And all those bicycles you have are stock in trade. It's a hard thing to resolve. And like I told Jonathan, who cares? Snob was riffing off some "minimalist' guy yesterday and it was, as always, pretty funny. "Six dress shirts?" What an ass.

      I always thought Corvallis sounded like a cool place.

      Someday...

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  8. TJ,

    What you call Normalism is just the rejection of Consumerism - i.e. the attempt to be happy by buying things. Not having a lot of money makes Normalism kind of a self-fulfilling prophesy, but there is a lot of wisdom in realizing that stuff doesn't equal happiness. I think one of the things that is appealling to me about bike touring is that you only have what you need, and the useless ballast is left behind.

    As for rejoining society - feh. I find myself more and more disenchanted with "society". As I have stated before, I would have made a great hermit. My mistake was getting married before I could really develop the proper hermit attitude.

    Keep on riding. There is peace behind those handlebars.

    Steve Z

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    1. Well put Steve, "peace behind those handlebars"
      I think we all search and strive for happiness in a life that seems to contain a share of frustration, anger and sadness. It is all a game of juggling the balls and keeping them in the air. Some of us are better at it than others.
      Speaking for myself, time on the bike is a chance to stop juggling and let the balls drop and roll away for awhile.
      Also time to think up these stupid metaphors!!!
      Jim

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    2. 'Tis true, Swampboy, 'tis true. A damnably cold North wind at close to twenty knots is keeping me off the bike today, and a stuffy head and yes, a wee bit of tequila residue all add up to a day on the web.

      I'll be getting into your piece here in a minute and let you know.

      tj

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  9. I love you forever for that wonderful, wonderful idea --- free beer at the library...

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  10. "Once I am elected President..."

    tj

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  11. TJ,

    Did someone say 'Poe', like quickly and quietly??

    Steve Z

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    Replies
    1. You always catch me, dude! I put up a piece of short fiction but wasn't sure how the crew would take it. I have been immersing myself in the murder mystery genre...seems to be what the masses want...The Trailer Park Cyclist solves the crime and saves the day!

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