“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.â€
~Teddy Roosevelt
Teddy was a cool cat.
A man doesn’t need much to make his way through the world. Well maybe he does. He needs a couple of good friends he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt will stand up and fight for him; whether it be physically if such an occasion should arise, or simply to defend his name if he isn’t around to do so himself. Maybe do it even if he is standing right there as the insult is uttered. He needs to have faith, in something. I won’t explain that because by its nature it can not be explained. What’s the quote Lorie? Where logic ends faith begins? He needs to have some things that he will not negotiate over. He needs to believe in some things that he knows are true and no matter what anyone else says his opinion on those things will not change. He needs to be able to accept when he is wrong. He needs a good bar, some place that is always smoky and that when he walks in someone yells his name as soon as the door opens, and by the time he sits down he has a drink in front of him. He needs family. He needs shelter.
Shelter. Refuge. A safe place. Protection from the elements. Shelter.
All the things mentioned before shelter are details. Shelter is the thing a man needs to make his way through the world. Shelter isn’t nearly as easy to explain as it seems on the surface. A roof? A house? A tarp and a camp fire? Nope. That is too elementary, too close to the actual definition you would find in the dictionary. Synonyms.
If I woke up tomorrow and everything I have, which ain’t much, was gone; I could call plenty of people who would put me up and help me back onto my feet. I appreciate it. Thanks. That isn’t the shelter I am talking about. Let me see if I can explain it.
“All of this around us'll fall over
I tell you what we're gonna do
You will shelter me my love
And I will shelter you
I will shelter you.â€
~Ray Lamontagne
That’s getting real close to what I am saying. A man gets a little tired sometimes and he needs that tarp and camp fire to warm his cold bones. Metaphors folks. If you’ve got it then say a prayer of thanks to what ever figure of faith you pray to, and if you don’t, well hell let’s start a commune. The whole sorry lot of us can grow organic carrots and dance around naked on Tuesdays and every other Thursday. We can walk around barefoot and raise each others kids until we forget which one belongs to who. Whom?
I’m in charge of the music.
“Are you going to leave?†“Probably.†“How about you stay?†“Alright I will.†“That was easy.†“I’m easy. All I want is a good sandwich and someone to rub my belly every once in awhile.†“That’s all you want?†“That’s all I need.†“What about…†“Let me stop you right there. People take this and they try and turn it into their favorite movie, or some Jane Austin novel. They tell you Van Gogh cut his ear off for a whore or that the world should stand still.†“Those things are nice, romantic, and special.†“You know what is romantic?†“What?†“A ham sandwich and some plain ruffles, maybe some tator tots, and a glass of iced tea. No one ever committed suicide over a ham sandwich. It’s a fact.†“What about poetry; wouldn’t it be nice if someone wrote me poetry, or named a star after me?†“How about I rub your feet and do the dishes?†“Deal.†“That was easy enough.†“Well, I’m easy.†“How easy?†“Shut up.†“Take your shoes off. I’ll do the dishes later.â€
This man pulls his old four door sedan into the drive way and curses a little as the brakes squeak. His hair is a little gray and getting thin. He’s in decent shape for a working man, not too skinny, and the little bit of belly that refuses to be anything but soft fits him. His eyes are clear and the curses turn into a smile as he notices the front light turn on as he closes the door to the car and makes his way towards the cozy little house he shares with his shelter.
This woman puts down her book as she notices the headlights coming up the drive, she winces a little as she hears those brakes squeak. She knows he is cussing them. She stands up and walks to the door, turns the light on for no other reason than to let him know she is glad he is home. Her hair is long as it always is in the winter, and she looks comfortable in her jeans and t-shirt. She has been home for a few hours and gotten comfortable.
He doesn’t have any poetry but he does have flowers. He hands them to her as he walks in the door and hangs his coat up. She smiles and her eyes sparkle. He smiles back and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.
She smiles as he hands her the flowers. It is almost a routine now after so many years, but she still smiles. He smiles back and kisses her lightly on the cheek. Who needs poetry?
The man makes a joke about the trouble of deciding between egg plant parmesan or lobster for dinner.
She listens to his usual joke about the choices for dinner and winks as she goes to the kitchen to grab a sandwich and some chips.
He wants to hit his knees and say a prayer of thanks as soon as she winks at him. No one winks any more. Such a lost art.
They sit and talk about each other’s day; they watch a little television in between the ordinary confessions of the easy day. Her legs are laid across his lap and he is gently rubbing her feet; she reaches for him and he shakes his head telling her not to interrupt his work. She complies willingly and lays back as she floats gently into a calm sleep. She says a prayer of thanks that she knows always what to expect.
Sometimes the most complex things are lost in their simplicity. Don’t ruin them by trying to explain it. Faith, love, a good sandwich. There is a reason why it costs thirty bucks to have a night for two at the movies, and why Oprah has a book club.
KB
I don’t want love or marriage. I just want a masseuse.
~Muse
No one ever committed suicide over a ham sandwich. It’s a fact.
No one ever committed suicide over a ham sandwich. It’s a fact.
Life ain't linear.
No one ever committed suicide over a ham sandwich. It’s a fact.
With mustard or without?
No one ever committed suicide over a ham sandwich. It’s a fact.
The hot and spicy type. Brown if available.
Life ain't linear.
No one ever committed suicide over a ham sandwich. It’s a fact.
The only way.
Think I may have to arrange a picnic soon.
;)
Think I may have to arrange a picnic soon.
;)