once upon a time, there was a very old woman, named June. June lived in the oldest house on the street, down toward the end, where the bushes started intruding on the sidewalk. June had two old black labradors. One was a statuette, perched with two ceramic ducks, in the window near her front porch. The other I would sometimes see with June, out for their afternoon constitutional, which never broached the confines of her property and the right of way along the width of it. On these days i can recall feeling somehow not just lucky, but blessed. I never said much more than hello and never learned what she called either of her dogs. In point of fact, I only learned Junes name by hearing another neighbor speak of her. I dont think I ever addressed her with it. To me, her old lab was just obviously the boss and she was the boss ol lady. When i caught them as I walked to or from the corner market for cigarettes, chocolate or a beer or soft drink, i would pause, smile at June, say hey, boss then stoop to pet the boss (unless the boss was too busy). On days that I missed them, i began to notice that the dog in the window was also a black lab. At some point i started saying hey boss every time i passed, to one of the dogs or the other. Eventually, i stopped seeing June and the boss. Her kids got affairs in order and sold the property. A development company split the lot and built the homes in the picture, which are directly opposite Smallish Planet. There was an estate sale, though. I went, mostly to see what the inside of a hundred year old portland ranch house looked like inside. As I walked up the front steps I noticed that the ducks were gone but the boss hadnt moved. i picked it up without pricing it: my piece of June. I also got a couple of colored glass spice jars that i had planned to store pot in. As it turned out, the corks were so pungent i couldnt use them. I never replaced them. The jars became the pedestals, set atop a hole in my coffee table, with light from below, and supporting my glass Earth, as well as imbueing it with green or blue light, or both, in the SP lizard lounge. It wasnt valuable glass, it was kitsch, but this assemblage has become the SP Icon. Tonight, I was telling my neighbor, who also remembers June, the story of the boss, who now sits in my front window, looking out, same as he did at my old place and as he did at Junes. Then it happened. A loop closed when i realized that the boss had the best possible vantage point from which to keep an eye on the old property, and on the ghosts of the real boss and June. I have told the story several times, thinking it was all sewn up, but in that moment...the heavens opened and i was compelled to write it down for the first time. There is a yellow lab in the house on the right now. Her name is Daisy and she wears handkerchiefs. One of her humans is named John. I dont call her the boss. I call her daisy but she gets mostly the same treatment unless she greets me with a stick or a ball. Thats why i moved across the street. Its a neighborhood, its my neighborhood. At night, i can see past these two houses to a patio on the next street over. It has colored lights and tibetan flags and generates a muffled tone of levity on the reg. Strangers? Feels More like my tribe, in a distant tent, but close enough to make me feel safer, more at home.
Posted on: Fri, 11 Jul 2014 05:26:56 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015