The Elder Beeboy

We had to rearrange a wiring closet, both network and voice cabling, in an area where we couldn’t do any work until the caregivers had gone home for the day.  It involved installing a large, freestanding steel rack, and bolting to it a variety of networking devices including two large battery packs.  Usually when I move one of these, called a UPS and weighing about 120lbs, I remove the batteries to make the chassis a little lighter, but my much younger partner wanted to get it done quickly so he could get home on an already late workday.  So the two of us muscled them into place, got everything up and running for when the shift returned the next morning, and then we went home.  By the time I pulled into my driveway I could feel my heartbeat in my knee and I half expected that had I looked at it, it would be throbbing like the throat of a bullfrog.  A cartoon bullfrog. 

                I went to bed with a brace on it – yes I own a knee brace – and I dreamed of the days when I had knees whose fragileness I was blissfully unaware.  By morning it was back to normal.  Well, as normal as a 52-year-old knee can be. 

                When I was young I never thought about lifting too much or going too long.  My first job was a paperboy, called Beeboys after the paper we delivered.  Sadly our newspapers have shrunk to a paltry version of their former selves, more like propaganda leaflets being dropped into our driveways.  Do they not throw them on the porch anymore because their weight, or lack thereof, would never allow them to be flung that far?  When I delivered The Bee it was more substantial.  Sunday’s edition was roughly the size and weight of a 5-inch naval shell.  And I landed them on doormats with the same accuracy as our fine Navy gunners.  Most Sundays I couldn’t take the whole load in my bike’s saddle bags and had to make two trips.  And woe to the kid who let his bike tip over with a full load; he’d likely have to empty them just to right that ship.  A lot like taking batteries out of a UPS before lifting it into a network rack.

                So I’m older now.  Yes, I have to think about my knees.  I have to think about my back and shoulders, and hands, and wrists, and was that last light green or red?, and well you get the point.  But I don’t mind really.  Even though I have more aches and pains than some sort of retired hybrid baseball catcher/ rodeo clown, I honestly don’t feel old.  Occasionally I find I’m as naive about some thing as I was as an 18-year-old, which I kind of find appealing.  For instance knowing when to use “who’s” verses “whose.”  What humiliated the boy charms the man I guess.

And I Dreamed I was Dying

I don't know a soul who's not been battered
Don't have a friend who feels at ease.
Don't know a dream that's not been shattered
Or driven to its knees.

                        -Paul Simon, American Tune

I’m all caught up on the Game of Thrones* books.  Good story telling, great imagination – the guy invented a 700 foot high wall of ice – with just enough magic to keep a couple of toes in the fantasy genre and just enough good old fashioned political intrigue to help the suspension of disbelief.  And although I could use fewer pages that go on and on about what icons appear on banners and shields, I do enjoy the chivalry and the lack thereof displayed by the knights of the story.

            I don’t know any knights but I know a man who has been fighting a dragon for years.  He has landed a few blows on this particular monster, but it doesn’t seem to weaken it.  There is no soft underbelly here.  He has vowed to never put away his sword because he is fighting this dragon for love, and therefore he simply cannot quit. Cannot.  Maybe men like him should be knighted rather than businessmen and pop stars.  I really admire the man and should he choose to tilt at windmills sometime in the future, I would gladly be his Sancho, although I probably don’t have the wit.

            He’s not alone.

            Friends and family are scattered about like a retreating army.  Walking wounded who shuffle along from Monday through Friday, sometimes Saturdays, hoping it gets better and praying it doesn’t get any worse.  They remain honest and conscientious while watching the dishonest and unscrupulous prosper.  They are slashed and stabbed by those who are rude and malicious for no other reason than they can be and they are beaten down by lifetimes of yes sirs and no ma’ams.  Tired and uninspired, used up but never caught up, hopeless or helpless they move like shadows of our parents.  I don’t have my own dreams.  I dream of having the dreams of my father.

There will be no king pleading “once more unto the breach” with promises of glory and praises of their strength and courage.  No conquered territory, no war prizes, no invading army tossed back into the sea, no peace and prosperity.  Just day after day, year after year on the line; keep your head down, your powder dry, and aim low.

Our minds are worn out.  Our bodies are breaking down and betraying us.  Our faith is shaken.  Hope they say.  When you have nothing else you still have hope.  Hope is just surrender with a scrubbed face and new clothes.  Of course I didn’t “expect to be bright and Bon Vivant,” but I did expect time to take a breath.  I’d like some nights around the campfire telling these war stories instead of never-ending days where we continue to live them.

*Yes, I know they are A Song of Ice and Fire books and that A Game of Thrones was only the title of book number one, but I say Crescent wrench for adjustable wrench and Kleenex for tissues too.

** The photo is from the great war time photographer Robert Capa.  Taken in Spain in 1936.  Used without permission.

***  I have amended this to say that while I hurt for friends and family who are struggling I have a better outlook myself these days.  When I lost my job and no one seemed interested hiring me, I had a dream where someone was dismantling the Golden Gate Bridge and piling the pieces on top of me in a nearby parking lot, expecting me to hold them up.  Don’t need Freud to work that knot.  The most recent dream I had, I was a cop interviewing a man and woman in a domestic dispute.  When the man tried to interrupt the woman I silenced him with a single finger, without making eye contact.  A little more control.