A recent Jehovah’s Witnesses magazine asked: “Is Satan real?” I didn’t have to read it. Who else but that vagabond would have waited until I’m trying to behave myself, pull up my socks even . . . to lure Veoma last Friday into exposing me wearing only socks? And taking even them off when she and I sought “shelter in the bushes” at Cherry Tree Hill?
That was cruel, V. Had me thinking thoughts all day long. But it was worse than that. Like for ever I’ve had dreams of being stark born naked when everyone else is fully clothed. Happened at a Harrison College school assembly recently.
I wake embarrassed but console myself it’s just a consequence of sleeping without pants. If indeed I’m now venturing naked into other people’s dreams, that’s really scary. Meanwhile, since Veoma’s revelation, my wife has gone back to covering us both up at night with a big double sheet to discourage romantic roamings.
Okay, let’s talk life. Here’s a view attributed to God: “Life is just a moment, a moment that belongs to you. For this reason enjoy this time while you have it. Live now . . . live your life. Don’t forget to be happy, that is the only thing that matters . . . .”
I once met Gordon Parkinson. Had heard of this man who planned his life: 20 years for study; 20 years of work; the rest to be devoted to enjoying himself. And he did it. Except that he became a famous artist and made even more money. That’s the story I heard.
My father’s passion was sailing. He never owned a house, never bought land. Nor wanted any. He sailed. That came before family, anything. Often he would take ladies sailing with him and let them hold the tiller stick. At least watchers thought it was the tiller stick . . . .
Men argue whether ’tis better to keep a cow or buy milk. Some lucky guys do neither but get more milk than most of us. Maurice put in his years and retired earlyish. He’s a racehorse man. Hangs out with racehorse people. He never married. Said he recently: “Every day I can do whatever I want. I don’t have to fit in with anybody’s plans.”
Three lives well lived in my opinion.
Jeff Garvey, Winston Small and I came back from T&T, Gregory Banfield from Mona. We formed Crescendos. Had some good years. Eventually the others dropped out. I continued playing in various groups and still do. Gregory is still at it in Canada last I heard.
Jeff talked of retiring early. He never did, but lived life to the fullest. I figured we would have afternoons to strike up some tunes, maybe with the others. It never happened. Called Smallie recently. He was up on the roof.
With threescore and ten well under my belt, I would love free time to play li’l sax, read books. I keep asking myself, if not now, when? “Not in this lifetime, bwana”, reality replies.
Instead the wife and I get to bed between 3 and 4 a.m. every morning. A little nap here and there is a guilty luxury. My “to do” list keeps growing until I’m snowed under – goats to milk, goats to guard, fences to run, hay to bale, rooms to pack away, equipment to service, chairs to fix, systems to set up . . . .
“Hard work won’t kill you,” says guitar friend John Moss, “overwork will”. So why do we do it? I’m a family man, part of a team. The two others attach no importance whatsoever to personal pleasure. They never complain but, if I cool out, somebody has to take up the slack. Except for medical emergency, we’ve had no holiday, no day off since 1975.
Mind you, lots of people nowadays have little time to enjoy themselves. Except for the young who seem to be retiring in their early 30s. While we fogies soldier on.
Last Friday I didn’t. The others were out. Cranked up the tenor. Blew blues to my heart’s content. Even had a stab at Veoma’s Rainbow Connection, the Karen Carpenter version. Sadly, Karen, who gave us We’ve Only Just Begun at age 20, didn’t live to reach 33.
So, Veoma, you were in the bushes, I had li’l sax. Hope it was good for you too.
Live life, peoples. Like, be there, Multinational Fair, Foursquare, tomorrow!
Richard Hoad is a farmer and social commentator.