OLD FRIENDS, SEEN IN STRANGERS.

 OLD FRIENDS, SEEN IN STRANGERS.

 

I took a short walk downtown before facing the task of bringing in or covering my numerous houseplants from the porch, as the possibility of a frost looms over the next few days.

 

Living in Vermont's tiny (the smallest in the USA) capital city (pop 4500)  and having rented an apartment (half a house actually) only two blocks from our blink stop city center it barely takes sixty seconds to be in our State and Main shopping center.

 

Today's was a 'visit' , that is purposely not purposeful. Living without a goal, meandering, wandering, chilling.... some of many words which are close to my heart, probably rooted in a 12 year part of my childhood which was strictly controlled by people who viewed the quiet mind as time wasted, not used. To the child's mind, much of which I have retrieved, this is a state of openess and exploration.

Downtown Montpelier has several traditional social stops for me comingle with my fellow beings. In fact, this is the sum of my social life and I'm content with that. Over the decades I have established some good contacts where conversations are generally welcome, greetings and recognition de 'rigeur' and possible purchases to be enjoyed. I tend, however, to 'tell stories' and, given my diagnosis of HDTV...no...HIV...nope..HSBC...you know what I mean...Hyperactive what's it's name....ADHD.. (sigh) there it is ! I can tend to follow more tributaries than has the Amazon river, eventually asking "What were we talking about ?"

 

Stepping up into the open door ( this despite it being a blustery, 50 degree late Spring day) into Antiques at 110 Main I say 'Hi' to Carl and hear a woman's voice  saying, no exclaiming my name 'Dylan !!!!'. Looking to the source of this voice I stare, open ,at this positively lovely woman whom I failed, initially, to recognize.

 

 



The only difference was that this person was someone I knew.  Two things occurred. My mind went into an immediate photo file scan, hindered by the accumulated sludge of ageing. My mouth probably remained open, until blurting out 'Pat !', as her name surfaced, thankfully in a matter of seconds.

 

Had that not occurred I should probably have said "Do I know you ?" Or "Have we met ?" (That's a good gambit btw)

 



 

But what happens when that greeting is met with that blank stare or puzzled expression before the turning away of the responding gaze ? This has a tendency to separate the secure from the insecure or just plain panicked and looking for the easiest exit.

 

I must say that I get it a lot. God forbid that, in my early 70's, my appeal is (still ?) alive and effective. That's hardly likely as a result of a childhood of conditioning which left me convinced that I was undesirable in every possible way. Especially when it comes to women.

 

I have grown into a more accepting view of myself to the point that I regularly tell myself that 'IyamwhatIyamwhatIyam'(and you can lump it if you don't like it) à la Popeye and , equally as regularly I catch myself in the small bathroom mirror and will either wink, click my tongue or exclaim 'Ye're a'right lad !' in my best north Yorkshire twang. Once in a while it'll even be 'Dahling, Zhou rook mahrverous !'.



 







 

It's not as though I've completely outgrown the years of conditioning which taught me to believe that as the 'planet's most undesirable person' but when I get that smile or eye contact across the street, passing the other way down the sidewalk or navigating the aisles of the local supermarket I find myself agonizing about 'But what does it mean - exactly ?' My complete lack of positive social gestures, comfortable and fearless processing and whatever else is required to exist naturally amongst others leaves me saying to myself 'But what does it mean ?" Exactly, that is, in detail so as to make it absolutely, undeniably clear to me that it's not a case of .....

 



 

Anyway, as usual, I'm steering off track, somewhat.

 

A very satisfying and enjoyable encounter with Pat, a tour of the shop and chat with Carl later, I turn the corner onto 'historic' Langdon Street and see some sale items on a table outside Onion River Sports, and , as they never offer anything in my size, I go in and check out the 'running shoe' men's section. They call them 'trainers' in the UK. neither term encapsulates the concept of nifty , sporty, classy , comfy, non-slip and lasts ten years', nor do they fit my meager budget. At least I helped zero in on what I would ,if I only could.

 

Then I notice this tall skinny, long , middle aged man in sensible rainwear and hat who seems to be accompanied by a young dude, perhaps his son or a relative ? I'm particularly struck with how his appearance jives with my memories of my most excellent friend, Hub Meeker. Hub is now in his mid eighties. We met at a group session in Primal Therapy and befriended each other on sight.

 

Not that this stranger was completely the twin of Hub but all the pieces were there, so much so that it got me thinking about this piece I'm writing now.

 

Crossing the street to Buchspieler, our local Vinyl/Antique clothing emporium, a second home to me, reminiscent of my days, in Toronto, diving into the stacks at SamThe Record Man on Yonge Street.

 

Entering I note that the Hub look alike and his friend are also there and the prospect of a story's source grows to the point that I approach him as he perused the antique T shirt rack .

 

" I have a favor to ask of you.. I'd like to take your picture", I open with, ".... I noticed you over at Onion River Sports. You remind me of an 85 year old very good friend of mine.." on which he responded," I hope that doesn't infer..."  and I countered casually..

" Oh no...has nothing to do with anything like that ! "

 

I continued, " I'm a writer and seeing you and how it brought back al these memories of my friend I thought to write something on the subject."

 

" Well, that's very touching .." he responded, "..but I won't pose for a picture."

 

"Sure, I understand. Thanks anyway." I say as I let my cellphone slip back into my pant pocket. "I'm sure I can 'manufacture' the piece anyway." ." I'm sure you can." he ended.

 

My guess is that he was either a tad offended by the mention of Hub's advanced age or, in general,  didn't like his photo being taken, especially by a stranger. Either way, although unexpected, it was cool and I returned to flipping through the LPs.

 

No problem.

 

I generally have a good grasp, visually speaking, so don't often mistake one person for another. It sure is weird when it does happen, though. Mind you, these days, you have to be even more careful, especially with all the gender interchanging.  Dread the thought that I'd catch sight of the beautiful hair of a young woman walking in front of me and, upon passing, I glance at this bearded face of the guy wearing it !

 

Onward.

 

Back in about 1973 I took a shortcut in cold weather through the old Eaton's sale annex basement. There came  a bit of a space in the flow of human traffic and suddenly, there was Kelvin, walking in my direction !

 

So what, who's Kelvin , you may ask !

 

Ten years earlier would have found me, having just returned from  a sort of sabbatical from my junior management at the Golden Lion Hotel in Hunstanton, Norfolk, England. I had been in Munich for the winter, working as a commis (lowest of the low) waiter at the luxurious Bayerischerhof Hotel. returning to Hunstanton I found that my boss, Harold Hinchcliffe, had hired two young guys from Hong Kong to work the bars. They had each assumed English names and Kelvin was one of them.

 

Kelvin and I had butted heads periodically as, it's my assessment, in my absence he had cozied up to my boss and wasn't able to return to his 'station' and take direction. Despite that these two used to throw together the best Chinese nosh at the end of a grueling day !!

 

A few words were exchanged and he was gone !

 

What are the odds. 3500 miles away on a different continent. Ten years later. I had emigrated to Canada, having left the Golden Lion for the Royal Oak in the Lake District in NW England and worked as an assistant manager for almost three years, then, in British Columbia, joined the Hudson's Bay Company in one of their retail stores in Vernon, then moved to Toronto to study photography at what is now Ryerson University. Of course, and this probably has as much to do with how short our encounter was, by then my hair was almost down to my waist and I was fully bearded and hippyfied.

 

 

 

  No wonder he ran, eh, hahaha !