POWIP Piece of Work In Progress – Former Abode of Dan Collins

On Days Like These…

Seems we've finally made it through Winter here in SE Wisconsin. A good thing too, as I couldn't stand any more of it.

To those who don't live in Wisconsin, please keep in mind that it is somewhat of a responsibility of Cheeseheads like me to complain about the weather. When it is too hot, we wish for Fall... when it is too cold, we wish for Spring. When it is too cool we wish for Summer... so forth and so on. But mostly, we look forward. Most of us wonder aloud whether we live here for the weather or the taxes. Even though the weather is out of our control, we as a state continue to embrace olde-world socialism by voting in the likes of Gov Doyle... oddly, these Dems usually win by a margin of 1-2% - when late-night vote tallies from the outlands of Wisconsin arrive at 1 or 2 in the AM. Nevertheless, we remain in Wisconsin. It is very common for Wisconsinites complain and remain. I don't know if that is a reflection of ethic, commitment, or a desire for martyrdom.

Sorry for rambling.

It is on days like today, with the windows open and the cool breeze blowing through the house - so desperate are we for fresh air after being caged in our homes for 5 months during Winter - that I feel like being outside. I like to be outside, sitting in the sun, listening to the birds and wondering about things while I smoke.

James pretty much hated Wisconsin. He hated the weather. But also found the deeply-rooted Germanic culture cold too. He preferred New Mexico. He liked the mountains and the desert. He wanted to move back West as soon as possible. Having grown up in suburban Milwaukee... having moved out to the SW in his twenties, and then having moved back for work in his mid-thirties, James had cause to know which he preferred.

We talked about everything. We were in business together. Both of us were fascinated by the Cosmos and all of the mysterious therein. We would talk about stuff that others would surely take to mean we had lost our wits. But when we discussed crazy shit and outlandish ideas, there were no limits... no constraints. No fear of being accused. Everything was open to discussion. Nothing was off-limits. And even if years had passed us by, a tendril of a concept could be picked up right where we left it. And this meant that over the almost 30 years of our friendship, we had disagreed on very much. But we had also come to accord on many, many matters... having tested each of these under the scrutiny of extreme heat and repeated hammers. We were forging our friendship and helping each other grow spiritually.

James would probably be here today. Sitting on one of our patio chairs gifted from Jane his mother to Jennifer and I when she sold her house 15 years back. He would be shaking his head with disbelief as I challenged or asserted this or that. He had a habit of uncomfortably long pauses as he considered his words. He would be smirking, staring down at his pouch of tobacco, paper ready to be receive just enough. I would say, "What?" He would take his time, tamp down the tobacco, roll it like a million times before, put it up to the tip of his tongue like a typewriter return. Then, he would let it hang there and glance at me as if to say, "You're such a dumb shit." Then, he'd light his smoke, take a deep breath, lean back, exhale, and say, "Dude..." Which meant, "why are you being so daft?" Then he would argue how naive I was or purposefully dense. I would act like I was offended or confused about what he meant by being purposefully dense. He would laugh, knowing I was daring him to say what he was saying aloud. He would very rarely give me such satisfaction. Instead, he'd repeat, "Dude!" Which meant, "Seriously. You're such a jack ass. You know what you're doing. Fuck, I hate it when you do that." I'd raise my eyebrows and look surprised, "Me? Purposefully daft to make you explain yourself and that shit logic?"

And this went on for years, whether over the phone, at the bar, at a restaurant, instant messaging, via text, voice mail, etc. .

On days like these I can see him. And I miss him very much. I will never have that again.

This is the pain we feel when we lose someone so close to us - so close that it is impossible to explain. When we reflect on that missing part. The tear in the mainsail of our soul. The wind blows right through it. Like a house with its windows wide open.

Enoch_Root

Person with kids,a beautiful wife, a job. Catholic of the Latin Rite.

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