My life has drastically changed over the last few months. I’ve been forced to sequester myself inside the confines of my home for all but a few, very cautious, sojourns to the post office or super market. The old standby to combat boredom, television, has morphed into an archival Dempster dumpster of Hollywood film castoffs mixed with highlights from ten or twelve-year-old sporting events. The programming is so bad that even the commercials are an embarrassment–last night the evening worship broadcast of a prominent evangelical pastor was sponsored by an AID’s medication called Descovy featuring an elegantly coiffed drag queen along with encouragement to …
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To add to these disruptions, like most other people, my life has taken some unexpected day-to-day emotional turns. I’ve recently lost a friend that I had become very attached to. He lived close by and had gotten in the habit of dropping by virtually every day for some refreshment and a short conversation. Sometimes he brought along his buddy but, probably because of this COVID thing, they always stayed some distance apart. Anyway, both of them have stopped coming around. Even though I like to think I don’t live in a high crime neighborhood, word of mouth on the street is that fowl play was definitely involved in their disappearance.
Making a short story even shorter and offering a little explanation–I lost that friend when “Gimp” stopped coming around for a few pecans and cashews. His buddy “Little Guy” disappeared at about the same time. That was a month or so ago and corresponded with two big hawks taking up residency in the surrounding pines as well as an increased serenade of WHOOing being heard from the oaks across the creek after the sun goes down.
There is an old axiom that: “Nature abhors a vacuum” and with the void in my life caused by the absence of my friend–things have abruptly begun to change. It could have been subliminally prompted by all of the attention that the “BLACK LIVES MATTER” movement has generated or maybe was just a byproduct of those Sahara Winds the weatherman is always talking about, but last week I had a very unexpected visitor. He was a dark stranger from Africa complete with multi-colored garb and an entourage of female attendants. I hadn’t notice his mode of transportation upon his arrival but he projected elegance and a totally self-assured demeaner as he walked straight up the driveway to my house … then paused momentarily by a puddle of rain water before jumping with a “thump” against an exterior wall and unabashedly peering in through a picture window.
Now he has found a new home. I’ve given him the name of “Bomber” for his habit of unexpectedly dropping in. He’s a Red Headed Agama and his kind have become quite common in Palm City. Hear tell, that his clan did come from Africa but he clams up every time I ask him about it–probably worried about his immigration status. He’s seldom much of a conversationalist but never fails to give me his undivided attention in our verbal exchanges. Unlike the squirrels, he’ll eat just about anything but prefers fresh Bing cherries or crumbs from a cranberry-walnut pound cake. He keeps his harem of lady friends around for company but doesn’t look kindly on “other guys stopping by for a chat.” As far as the “hanky-panky” goes … it looks like he’s playing it pretty cool–they chase him more that he chases them.
Having freed up most of the slots in my busy calendar, I find myself spending more and more time talking with Bomber. I’ve asked him about his fears and aspirations: he just wants a steady supply of termites to go with the fruit and pastry hand-outs and one look at my old house will allay any concerns in that department. As far as the fear factor is concerned–he doesn’t seem worried about winged predators but is aware that there hasn’t been a long lasting hard freeze at this latitude in years and one is long over-due. He told me that if the temperature does drop, he and his entourage may need to move inside for a night or two. I haven’t broached this subject with my wife yet–maybe wait awhile.
What really grabs my attention in speaking with my new-found African friend is his obvious and genuine concern about, not himself, but what makes me tick? He seems unusually interested in my mental wellbeing and asks repeatedly if I have any active social life other than what I have revealed and demonstrated in my talks with him?
profile: definition ....
meaning: 1. a short description of someone's life, work, character, and information about the person's interests and beliefs.
meaning: 2. an outline of that same person's face as it is seen when someone is looking at them from the side. If you see someone in profile, you only see them from one side.
From these two definitions I can only conclude one thing: profiles as such and offered by job seekers, politicians, and aspiring writers, risk falling into very obvious categorical traps ..... they will be hopelessly self-edifying and boldly "two faced"!
To avoid these pitfalls I intend to state an illusion and immediately counter it with the fact. If the latter is too candid or disturbing, just disregard it! This will allow me to come off (in your estimation) as the fine upstanding, clean cut, like-minded, and adventurous elderly gentleman you were hoping for.
Illusion: I'm an accomplished "sailor" and have spent over 50 years routinely putting out to sea, first under canvas and in my latter years with only the diesel iron wind at my back.
Fact: In all of my voyages I've never spent more than eight or nine full nights underway and that was only because, over open water, Walker's Cay was too far from Palm City or Havana from Key West. In reality, as the sun begins to set I'm usually tucked into some snug little cove, the hook set, and an icy drink in my hand. I'm not an accomplished sailor, I'm a fantastic "anchorer"!
Illusion: I'm a semi-talented "writer" that creates interesting characters in situations and settings that, sometimes, move a story along.
Fact: In most cases, I am the "character" and I've already lived the story. Then all I need to do is figure out how to just pretend I'm sitting in some sleazy dive in the Keys after a few beers and start to tell my story to ........ (only problem is: .......... is it “i” before “e” except at sea?)
Illusion: Because I am openly conservative and speak with a Southern drawl, I'm looked upon as a right-wing good-ole-boy that picnics under Confederate monuments, lives and breathes Fox News, drives a gun-racked Ford 150, and wears his "Make America Great Again" hat to bed every night.
Fact: I'm very discouraged with what is going on in Washington in general and at the White House in particular. I supported its current occupant and, seeing what options are shaping up on the horizon, I may be forced to continue doing so but he(and we) could do so much better. Do I have to surrender my judgment and intellect to remain a Republican?
I won't dwell on the President's Smoot-Hawley like policies on trade and tariffs ... time and the markets will be the final arbiters and greed on my part forces me to hope for the best. Needless to say, I endorse his impact on the Judicial Branch of Government and I could care less what next week's "horndog rumor" and accompanying hush-money payoff have in store .... I'll leave that to his poor wife and "Morning Joe"! But I do have one pet peeve: we don't need a $5,000,000,000.00 wall to keep out Guatemalans and their Central American neighbors. They only constitute the latest installment in 4 centuries of migration to our shores and may be the hardest working bunch yet assembled. The hardships they are fleeing are not unlike the pogroms against Jews in the Middle East or the 19th century Irish potato famine. The seemingly demeaning statement of: "how would the roof ever get patched or the grass cut without them?" or a variation thereof has been directed at virtually every American's fore-bearers. Unless you stepped ashore on Plymouth Rock or the swampy landing at Jamestown, there was always somebody "better than you" waiting to curse your arrival ……… or put you in chains.
On the flip side of all of this, and without inserting its own Illusion, we don't need porn starlets and their attorneys being featured on Sunday morning talk shows answering pointed questions from wax haired "contributors" about our Presidents libido! What we do desperately need is a media culture that will demand the resurrection and employment of an old concept ...... news REPORTING! On my home cable TV hookup; Fox News is on channel 44 and MSNBC resides on 42. The Guide tells me that the channel between them ...43 ... is dedicated to financial news but that can't be true. The call letters may be CNBC but, judging from the disparity in the adjacent editorializing, it must be Star Wars! ..... the distance between the adjoining galaxies is so "far, far, away"?
Over the past few months I've become a reluctant, almost incarcerated, soccer fan. The game is played, not with a pitch .... but on one, lasts an hour and a half, and often ends with a score of nil-nil. I endure all this because my sole source of, even remotely, unbiased television news and happenings in the good old USA can be found only on the British Broadcasting Corp ..... go Cardiff City!
Jim Powell
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Jim Powell along with his family, friends, and classmates 