The Cast Continues

The die is cast .... Cast fishing ... Casting aspersions .... Castigation ...

When I was a schoolboy, I was asked to read Edwin Arlington Robinson's poetry. "Miniver Cheevey, Child of scorn, grew old as he assailed the seasons. He cried that he was ever born and he had reasons." Miniver Cheevey, Arlington explained at the close of the piece, was the town drunkard and "kept on drinking." Simon and Garfunkel traded on our generation's love for Robinson by enshrining Richard Corey, another one of Robinson's Cast of Characters, this one who "went home one night and put a bullet in his head." Robinson's poetry fell out of favor; I don't know why.

Our trip back demonstrated, if nothing else, that there is value in some technology. A lengthy tie-up on the Interstate demonstrated that Last Quarter legs and Start-Stop traffic are far better suited to each other when the drive to power is through a torque converter on an automatic transmission. Clutching a thousand times in two hours of 2 mph Interstate Tortoise Crawls makes one's left leg feel at least a quarter older than the rest of one's body.

A hot shower might have solved that ... well, except for the fact that the icy cold water on my naked body did little else that further debilitate. Quick trip down to basement was sufficient proof that the water heater that had been installed "11/4/1994" had had enough of my demands for hot water and decided to retire due to incontinence. I suspect my Dad would have reluctantly understood my decision to call in a plumber rather than push the old heater up the stairs without advantage of my indentured sons who've managed to escape into lives of their own and then carry a new 150+ pound heater down the same stairs to take its place. Dad never approved of men who couldn't man-up ... and I was a dutiful son.

Yes! I am a member of the Cast of Characters, as well. I have the odd or oddly discovered and very occasional quirk. Like ... really struggling to leave any morsels of food on my plate ... "Hey, isn't that why God created bread .... to sweep the plate clean?" I reluctantly invite carpenters, plumbers or lawn mowers to my home in recent years. ...  though, I CAN man-up enough to admit that I can still feel the place where my back took responsibility for putting in place a 3/4" subfloor that I precut for a third floor bathroom that I was refinishing maybe 15 years ago. Particularly my left hip area (the bathroom opened to the right) suffered from holding up the ropes that I tied through the various fixture-holes with the bulk of the weight going on the right hand side through the entrance way. I think I'd have no back at all if an ex-student of mine hadn't shown up at just that time to visit M and I and agreed to help me lower the floor into place. She's now a Jewelery maker somewhere in the Northwest ... maybe Oregon ... but was never afraid to throw her back into grunt work. "Go, Ms. H. If you ever give up designing fine jewelery, an Old couple trying to graciously Play in the Last Quarter could always use a hand."

As for my Dad?

"My Father Milton, who art in Heaven: I woulda done it if I coulda done it."