Not everybody views life the same way. This was brought home to me just this morning.
After last week's windstorm, we awoke to find a truckload of branches on our lawn, and two or three trees down in our "woodlot" out back. Nothing valuable or pretty -- just some old scrags that we probably should have cut down ourselves, but hadn't. Still, it made a mess.
Ian surveyed the scene with dismay. "God damn" he said. "Another two days wasted cleaning up." (Since he's retired, I'm not sure what exactly he meant by "wasted", but I let it go. ) "Call Walt", I suggested. "He could probably use the work and, why should you do it?" "Perhaps I will" he said.
Walt (name changed to avoid embarrassment, or possible law suit) is an interesting character. His family has lived in the area for a long time. His brother runs a small machine shop where we get the lawn mower serviced in the Spring. Walt drives a beat up old Ford truck and does odd jobs. He has a beard and smokes a pipe, often while he's working. If we lived in West Virginia, I would call Walt a mountain man. I can see him relaxing on his porch in the evenings, dog by his side and perhaps a glass of "shine" in his hand. But we live in eastern Ontario, so I'm not sure he fits any stereotype.
Anyhow, Ian called Walt and he showed up this morning. I brought him a coffee (one and a half sugars and some milk) and asked him how things were going.
"Not too bad" he replied. "I fell out of a tree last fall and busted up my collarbones and my back, but other than that I'm OK".
"Good grief" I said, "Should you be doing this?"
"Oh it's OK" he said. "I need the money".
To which there was no answer.
Later on, I brought out some chocolate zucchini bread. Walt was reasonably pleased with the zucchini bread: "Especially since I didn't eat no breakfast. I never eat breakfast".
"Why not Walt" I asked.
"Well" he said, "the night before my first day in high school, there was a big thunderstorm. The next morning, I was in a hurry to get across the highway, but when I put my bread in the toaster, it wouldn't toast. So I said (pardon my language): 'Fuck this. I'm never eating toast again. I'm never eating breakfast again'. And I haven't. And I'm 55. The only toast I'll eat is in a grilled cheese or French toast. If you were to make me a sandwich with toasted bread I wouldn't eat it."
You just never know what makes people the way they are, do you?
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