Tuesday, March 25, 2003


Sap

Apologies

If we shadows have offended Shoot, I think I just used that line two posts ago. I guess I'm running out of ideas. I apologize for my attitude. You don't deserve this kind of treatment. You come in here looking for some lighthearted reading, and am I providing it? No, I am not, and for that I'm sorry. I write to all of you imaginary people out of a sense of camaraderie. Misery does love company, so I try to share a little of the ups and downs of my life, but I've hit a stumbling block. You see, I pick some little bit of adversity, blow it all out of proportion, and bore you all to tears with the retelling of it. It may not be the best system, but when you're plagued by camel crickets or you have insane neighbors, it seems just the thing to do. I get to vent, you get to read, and we both go home a little happier for the sharing, I think. So what's my problem? I have nothing to get off my chest; that's my problem. Not that everything's going swimmingly, mind you. In addition to the obvious bit of chaos my president has embroiled us in, I've been passed over for promotion, Uncle Sam is taking all of my April mad money, and the sun only seems to come out when I'm working, but I don't care. I'm shielded from adversity by a protective layer of Sap, and it is for that I am apologizing. Also because this Sap will be the subject of the rest of this entry. If you know what's good for you, you won't read on, but if your eye should stray, and little bits of Sappiness should infect you, well, I apologize for that as well.

Early Warning Signs

If you catch your Sap infection in its early stages, you might be able to stop it, but you won't want to. That's part of its insidious nature. The first thing it saps from you is your will to do anything but succumb to the Sap. Still, it may be helpful to know when you're infected, so here's some early warning signs:

I'm infected, so now what?

Well, with any luck, the person who infected you is also infected (some people are just carriers). In that case, you should be fine, because sappiness loves company, too. I'm afraid there's no cure. The important thing is to keep your sappy symptoms to yourself as much as possible as most people will not catch your sappiness but will instead exhibit less pleasant symptoms similar to the nausea induced by REO Speedwagon, but much worse. Picture an REO Speedwagon concert, but wait, they're not alone, the Carpenters are there, too. And the stage is all set up like a big, cozy living room, complete with a fireplace, a real, goddam fireplace there on stage which Richard is using to pop some Jiffypop. Oh and the concert is on Valentines Day, did I mention that? That's the kind of pain we're talking about, and that's why you need to keep to yourself. Conversely, if the whole REO Speedwagon/Carpenters Valentine's Day concert sounds like a good idea to you, well then you, my friend, are part of the problem. Do everyone a favour and sit at home alone watching Disney videos. The rest of us don't need to see that. And that, faithful reader(s), is why I've been out of commission for a few weeks. I'll be back, I promise. I don't have much hope of beating my infection, but I do hope to find a way to function with a sap-induced disability. Already I can feel another story coming on about the slightly unbalanced people who live in my building. How's this for a title: Chaucer's sister is kind of a whore. Nuttin' sappy about that, eh? So until then, hang in there, and if you see this man, just slap him, because nothing else will get through.


posted 4:42 PM



Monday, March 10, 2003


Goodbye

He knows when you've been sleeping

It was probably 1988 or 1989. My friend, Lee, a couple of years my senior, had headed off to college. I tagged along with her family as they went to see one of the many plays she worked on during her college career. So it was me and family, Lee's mother, father, sister, grandmother, and grandfather, sitting in restaurant getting dinner before the show. Lee's grandfather bears a resemblence to a certain celebrity who's often associated with the end of December. He's a little large about the middle with white hair and a prickly white beard. He's not an exact match, but he's so jovial, that I'm sure it's not infrequent that someone makes the connection, and today was no different. A man, probably in his sixties, hesitantly approached the table, "Excuse me, sir, my girlfriend and I," he indicates a woman in her sixties sitting alone, "were talking and I just had to know... Are you Santa Clause?" Grandpa Fain didn't miss a beat, "Yes, yes I am Santa Clause." "Well," said the other man, "I wonder if you wouldn't mind coming over and saying hello." So off he went. I've been told he doesn't like the St. Nick associations his appearance seems to call to mind, but I couldn't tell it that night. He sat and had a good-natured conversation with the couple and then came back to join us. Whenever I see Grandpa Fain or whenever he's mentioned, I think about that night because in that one instant I could see the qualities I admire most about him shining through: his humour, his kindness, his gregariousness, his playfulness, his generosity. He had those qualities about him all the time, but somehow that moment, when he said, "Yes, yes I am Santa Clause." and went to amuse a couple of people he didn't know seemed to embody them all at the same time. For me, anyway.

"I think he bypassed my racket"

The other thing I always remember about Grandpa Fain, a. k. a. "Big Al" is that if I step onto the tennis court opposite him, I can fully expect a good natured trouncing. It's been a long time since our last match, but I believe that one took place after his bypass surgury, although I may have that wrong. I'd like to say I took it easy on him, showing deference to his age and health and allowed him to win. But that's just not the case. If anything, he was kind enough to allow me a few hits and give me a few tips so that I didn't feel completely ineffectual against him. It's kind of inspiring to see. I used to think, "I hope I'm so spry at that age." But on the heals of that thought would always come a slightly more depressing one, "Who am I kidding? I'm clearly not even that spry now."

And the only measure of your words and your deeds
Will be the love you leave behind when you're done.

So, you may have guessed that I'm not taking a little time out to remember Grandpa Fain just because. No, he passed away yesterday. I measure the time we spent together in hours, spread out over years, yes, but you might not even be able to make a full day out of the time I've spent losing tennis to or playing cards with Grandpa Fain. So, given our limited association, and the amount of sorrow I feel at his passing, I can only imagine what his friends and family must be going through. By the same token, the way our brief contact has touched my life gives me further indication that he was a very special man, a man whose death will leave a big hole in the world, but whose life generated enough love to fill that hole many times over. Goodbye, Big Al, you are missed, you are loved, and you will not be forgotten. Thank you for being.
posted 6:25 PM



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