On Halloween weekend, I went to Milton and prepared a bird watcher costume. The idea came after a solitary field expedition by the abandoned brickyard. I was walking quietly, whistling Sunflowers through the fields of dried flowers and spotted a Woodpecker.
Meanwhile, back at 49 Mary Street Joy and Fern were having their annual Halloween argument. "You never give me anything," said Ma.
"What about those chocolates?"
"They're for Halloween, to give to the kids."
"Well you can have a couple."
On Sunday, October 30, 1976, I woke up at 8:20 and had four pieces of toast and coffee. Went for a walk with binoculars and bird field guide out past the brickyard. All I saw were two blue jays, some warblers and a woodpecker. I was humming “Starry, starry night,” from Vincent, not singing the words, I felt like the fields were incredibly beautiful, and hummed, not wanting to scare the birds away. I think the lines “There’s a warm wind blowing the star around” from I Really Want to See You Tonight reminds me of the Milky Way and Van Gogh’s swirling skies.
Spent three hours writing a letter to Melissa but ripped it up. After bird watching I walked along the Mill Pond. Then I helped my father put plastic on the windows. Called Kim and told him about it and he made a fuss about me helping my father. Kim said, "Here's something to write in your book... Once Voggan and some guys rented a truck to haul leaves, so we could dump them on a wooden bridge at the 4th line, and set fire to it hoping the police would chase them and run into it, but some body called the fire department."
Went downtown and bought some stuff for my costume: a plastic helmet, big ears, orange tape, a toy machine gun and a bright orange yo-yo. Came home and painted my green rubber army surplus maxi coat with blotches of metallic paint, and when it dried I used the orange tape to write "Bird Watcher" on the back. Danny was not happy that I ruined my coat. I told Danny, "Could you imagine if I went to a bird-watching expedition with the Toronto Field Naturalist's Club wearing this coat?"
After supper I went with Danny to Don Makowski's place. At Don's we sat in the living room with his parents and watched a bit of a movie... [Danny made the following entry: "We went downstairs and listened to some albums and Stefan and Don argued till twelve — what about I couldn't tell you, thank you, Dusty Dan.]
I made the mistake of telling Don the truth about the Phantom Frog. It was a manifestation of the "I Was A Teenage Folksinger" complex. He was pseudo intellectually abrasive, harmlessly dumb; and swell headed about being in the Oakville Symphony. "It's a prestigious position," he had said. I told him we weren't communicating well. Basically Don thought that I might be committed for continuing to collect "Froglore." Don did not like my costume. The thirteenth volume of my journals was filled with references to Melissa that I had underlined in red. Some of them were quite distressing, others were dreams that I had of her, dreams that included Bud Rose as the rival for her affections. In editing my journal I have omitted them, as well as the notes that I made for my book and shoptalk about the alarm company. It was nauseating to read about me going around telling everyone that I was writing a book. I wrote about some of my friends anthropomorphically, as if I were reinventing The Wind in The Willows. People who sat beside me on the train or met by chance in some cafe or bar were subjected to my diabolical plots. So maybe Don was unto something.
Anyway, it is now 5:30 Sunday, October 30, 1976, and I'm waiting for the Go Train to go. Had roast pork dinner, watched He-Haw with ma, after ma gave me some stuff to do my face up with. Ma said that she went to her eye doctor and showed him how she could now move her eye. They had thought that after her stroke that it would always be paralyzed, but she kept trying and finally got it to move. She said she was going to live another 25 years.
Couldn't catch the Go Bus, so I hitch hiked on Ontario Street and got a ride with Michael Whinney, who was in my grade eight class, driving his father's car and dressed as a wizard. I talked about the bicycle trip we went on to Oakville with two-dozen or so kids. Called Paul from the station, woke him up, reminding him of the party. It is now Monday 6:30 am and Both Sides Now is playing on the radio. That song can bring tears to my eyes...
I
arrived at the party at the band house. Mary, dressed as a hillbilly freckled
girl, helped me don my clown face. Sam performed Lorraine wearing a newspaper
hat, dark frog sunglasses, and an American flag. It was a rare occasion for our
little hero to break into dance. I told everyone that I had just attended a
meeting of the Field Naturalists Club, and would read excerpts from my
dog-eared Frog Book. People kept their distance. Sam offered five bucks to
anyone who could bob an apple out of a tub of water without using their hands.
I won by forcing the apple to the edge of the tub so I could get my teeth in
it. I recall bobbing for apples and singing the Wind-up Monkey Dance.
After the party I went with Katrina to the Cinema Lumiere for a midnight screening of Some Like It Hot. We arrived just as the hearse was being shot up. There was a man in a powder blue cape in the lobby, asking if it was a documentary or a film. I said, "It's a play with paper thin characters."
Katrina managed to prolong her song and dance all the way to Philosopher's Walk, where we sat on a park bench. In the eerie evening mist their voices were like echoes in the fog. A foghorn could be heard from the harbor. Around the edges of the buildings a touch of red neon reminded me of old tin toys revved up to roar across the linoleum with incessant sparks glowing beneath the red cellophane. At last Katrina finished, and the invisible violins subsided and I talked about how I went out to replace my dog-eared Frog Book; how my brand new edition had become instantly bruised.
"I was sitting with a lady in a baseball cap and yellow jacket, eating a pear as the lady beside me combed her hair with members of the Toronto Field Naturalist Club at the Leslie Street Spit. We were on a bird watching expedition in the sand dunes and I'd just observed a Buff-breasted Sandpiper through borrowed binoculars. By chance I looked up at the sky the same time as the lady was putting on rouge lipstick. We both chanced to see a white jet streak had a jog in it. She wondered aloud how the jog got to be so huge. The pilot was, ‘probably drunk,’ I postulated.
"The next day I went on an expedition to get some field books, and rode my bike down to the Open Air Book Store and bought three books. Two of the books were field guides for bird watchers, and one was a mint copy of the Frog Book. I then proceeded north on my bicycle up Yonge Street with the three books suspended in a plastic bag. The bad dangled from my hand on the left handlebar.
"On the road ahead I saw a bald man hail a taxi and climb in. When I passed the taxi on the right as it pulled away from the curb the man opened the rear door to close it more firmly. In doing so the door gashed into my new books causing the Frog Book to become permanently damaged. I managed to ride on, looking up as the taxi passed. The bald man was Bert the picture framer who was employed at Eaton's. I knew this because just after I first moved to Toronto in the fall of '73 I allegedly worked there as a picture frame maker myself."
"That must have been an interesting job," said Katrina.
"Not really. Actually it was one of the worst jobs I've ever had. All I ever did was paste papers on the back of ugly prints. The only time anything exciting happened was when the crew would debate on which side was 'up' on an abstract — that, and watching Bert, who was going through his fifth childhood. It was comical how he demonstrated the antics of the traffic cop who stood between Eaton's and Simpson's."
"The other day," Katrina said, seeing that my story was going nowhere fast, "You were going to tell me how Mary is so perceptive concerning matters of the heart — when it concerns others."
"I'll give you an example," I said, "Two weeks ago I went to a party at Bud Rose's place. One of Melissa's friends approached me and said, 'The last time Melissa was here we were in Ottawa.' 'When was she here.' I asked. 'Last weekend,' she answered and added, 'She was doing an essay.' Well, my face dropped because she had not called. I left the party immediately and ran into Sam, Mary and Alcatrash who were in the middle of their submarine sandwiches. 'Melissa came to Toronto,' I said, 'And didn't call me.' 'I'm sorry to hear that, but I've got a cold and won't be able to be as sympathetic as I should. You shouldn't let people hurt you like that — you think to highly of yourself.' Mary was wearing a pitch-black fur coat. Her eyes were sincere and innocent like those of an animal."
"I see what you mean," said Katrina. "I just learned that Sam is a Russian Jew, just like me. Our ancestors both came from the same part of Russia."
"I didn't know Sam's ancestors were from Russia." I said, "Sam's a very evasive character; a private person. The last meaningful thing he said to me was, 'Could you walk away from a pie like that?' He and I were good friends up until five months ago when he stopped visiting me. Actually, I talked him when The Earth Movers played at the Bohemian Embassy last week. 'There's something I want to talk to you about, it's about our friendship,' Sam said, leaning over to remove some peanuts from a vending machine. 'I get the feeling that we're not really friends anymore. I said, 'It's like I haven't really talked to you so much in the last few months.' 'I've been feeling really guilty about that. I'll get together with you soon and work it all out.' It was not unusual for me to visit Sam and Mary at the Green residence on Sunday evenings when I returned from visiting Milton. Sam and Mary would be at the long dining table with the New York Times spread out. For several months Sam had ignored me when I visited. I would sometimes draw moustaches on the pictures. "I was surprised last week when Sam opened up when the band was practicing. During a break he said to me, 'I feel incredible. I haven't felt this great for two years...' Then he whispered, 'I'm going through the long process of breaking up with Mary.' Then, over coffee at the By the Way Cafe, Sam told me the story of the South American Rock Band, and why it is so stupid to be into drugs and guns."
After a long pause Katrina said: "Isn't that something, Sam and Mary getting engaged?"
"When Sam called to announce his engagement I nearly fell off my chair. He asked me to be best man. Two days later, riding the bus to a Cowbirds performance at the Bohemian Embassy, Sam told me about having the jitters. He had squabbled with Mary as they celebrated their engagement at the CN tower, the day they picked up their marriage license. 'I'm afraid Mary is acting like a typical suburban fiancée,' Sam said, as the band played."
After the party I went with Katrina to the Cinema Lumiere for a midnight screening of Some Like It Hot. We arrived just as the hearse was being shot up. There was a man in a powder blue cape in the lobby, asking if it was a documentary or a film. I said, "It's a play with paper thin characters."
Katrina managed to prolong her song and dance all the way to Philosopher's Walk, where we sat on a park bench. In the eerie evening mist their voices were like echoes in the fog. A foghorn could be heard from the harbor. Around the edges of the buildings a touch of red neon reminded me of old tin toys revved up to roar across the linoleum with incessant sparks glowing beneath the red cellophane. At last Katrina finished, and the invisible violins subsided and I talked about how I went out to replace my dog-eared Frog Book; how my brand new edition had become instantly bruised.
"I was sitting with a lady in a baseball cap and yellow jacket, eating a pear as the lady beside me combed her hair with members of the Toronto Field Naturalist Club at the Leslie Street Spit. We were on a bird watching expedition in the sand dunes and I'd just observed a Buff-breasted Sandpiper through borrowed binoculars. By chance I looked up at the sky the same time as the lady was putting on rouge lipstick. We both chanced to see a white jet streak had a jog in it. She wondered aloud how the jog got to be so huge. The pilot was, ‘probably drunk,’ I postulated.
"The next day I went on an expedition to get some field books, and rode my bike down to the Open Air Book Store and bought three books. Two of the books were field guides for bird watchers, and one was a mint copy of the Frog Book. I then proceeded north on my bicycle up Yonge Street with the three books suspended in a plastic bag. The bad dangled from my hand on the left handlebar.
"On the road ahead I saw a bald man hail a taxi and climb in. When I passed the taxi on the right as it pulled away from the curb the man opened the rear door to close it more firmly. In doing so the door gashed into my new books causing the Frog Book to become permanently damaged. I managed to ride on, looking up as the taxi passed. The bald man was Bert the picture framer who was employed at Eaton's. I knew this because just after I first moved to Toronto in the fall of '73 I allegedly worked there as a picture frame maker myself."
"That must have been an interesting job," said Katrina.
"Not really. Actually it was one of the worst jobs I've ever had. All I ever did was paste papers on the back of ugly prints. The only time anything exciting happened was when the crew would debate on which side was 'up' on an abstract — that, and watching Bert, who was going through his fifth childhood. It was comical how he demonstrated the antics of the traffic cop who stood between Eaton's and Simpson's."
"The other day," Katrina said, seeing that my story was going nowhere fast, "You were going to tell me how Mary is so perceptive concerning matters of the heart — when it concerns others."
"I'll give you an example," I said, "Two weeks ago I went to a party at Bud Rose's place. One of Melissa's friends approached me and said, 'The last time Melissa was here we were in Ottawa.' 'When was she here.' I asked. 'Last weekend,' she answered and added, 'She was doing an essay.' Well, my face dropped because she had not called. I left the party immediately and ran into Sam, Mary and Alcatrash who were in the middle of their submarine sandwiches. 'Melissa came to Toronto,' I said, 'And didn't call me.' 'I'm sorry to hear that, but I've got a cold and won't be able to be as sympathetic as I should. You shouldn't let people hurt you like that — you think to highly of yourself.' Mary was wearing a pitch-black fur coat. Her eyes were sincere and innocent like those of an animal."
"I see what you mean," said Katrina. "I just learned that Sam is a Russian Jew, just like me. Our ancestors both came from the same part of Russia."
"I didn't know Sam's ancestors were from Russia." I said, "Sam's a very evasive character; a private person. The last meaningful thing he said to me was, 'Could you walk away from a pie like that?' He and I were good friends up until five months ago when he stopped visiting me. Actually, I talked him when The Earth Movers played at the Bohemian Embassy last week. 'There's something I want to talk to you about, it's about our friendship,' Sam said, leaning over to remove some peanuts from a vending machine. 'I get the feeling that we're not really friends anymore. I said, 'It's like I haven't really talked to you so much in the last few months.' 'I've been feeling really guilty about that. I'll get together with you soon and work it all out.' It was not unusual for me to visit Sam and Mary at the Green residence on Sunday evenings when I returned from visiting Milton. Sam and Mary would be at the long dining table with the New York Times spread out. For several months Sam had ignored me when I visited. I would sometimes draw moustaches on the pictures. "I was surprised last week when Sam opened up when the band was practicing. During a break he said to me, 'I feel incredible. I haven't felt this great for two years...' Then he whispered, 'I'm going through the long process of breaking up with Mary.' Then, over coffee at the By the Way Cafe, Sam told me the story of the South American Rock Band, and why it is so stupid to be into drugs and guns."
After a long pause Katrina said: "Isn't that something, Sam and Mary getting engaged?"
"When Sam called to announce his engagement I nearly fell off my chair. He asked me to be best man. Two days later, riding the bus to a Cowbirds performance at the Bohemian Embassy, Sam told me about having the jitters. He had squabbled with Mary as they celebrated their engagement at the CN tower, the day they picked up their marriage license. 'I'm afraid Mary is acting like a typical suburban fiancée,' Sam said, as the band played."
A
few evenings later I walked with Mary, along a snowy street to the Green
residence. Mary was wearing a white Hudson's Bay coat and I had finally bought
a new coat to replace the one I wore during the frying pan incident. Also, I
bought a new satchel to replace my gas mask bag, trying to move up in the
world. "I was upset," Mary, said, "That you and Sam were talking
through our performance, but then I saw that you were crying so I knew that it
must have been important." As we walked along I thought of my song, Heart
of Snow, and saw images of the song within a miniature snow dome.
Mary told me about fighting with her mother... "You know what my mother and I fought about today, we quarreled over whether the wedding would be organic in structure like I want it, or formal which is something I don't want. She kept saying, 'you are the only bride I know who won't even your own mother do anything. All other mothers of brides get to run the wedding.' 'But mom this is a different kind of wedding,' I said, but she insisted that people can't wear blue jeans to a wedding. 'They can at this wedding if they want to,' I said."
"So that means I can wear my Frog City T-shirt, right?"
"I got so upset that I hung up on her once yesterday. Finally she said I'm going to be so mortified at the wedding that I'm going to spend the whole time in the kitchen. 'Mother, you're petty' I told her. 'You're so petty to be embarrassed by something that's going to be the most enjoyable and fun day of my life just because it's not going to be done the way that you want it to be. If you're really going to feel that badly about it and really don't want to come, then maybe I'll understand.' Then she called back later and told me she was going to get some cake pans and start baking."
The ceremony took place at the Green Residence. I was the best man, and wore my Frog City T-shirt under my suit. The vows were lifted from a Celestial Seasons Tea Box. When the Wedding Officiator announced, "You have now taken the plunge," Mary jumped so high hooting that she left her cowboy boots on the floor.
I toasted the Bride and Groom. "I will make this short and sweet. Short for Sam and Sweet for Mary. May you live long and prosper may you never thirst, may you be blessed with many children." Sam gave Mary his wedding gift of a Marten New Yorker guitar. Mary played a song that she had written for her Maid of Honor, and I played Winter Wedding.
WIND-UP MONKEY DANCE
There's a big commotion
About a monkey motion
It's not a locomotion
But you might get the notion
To do the monkey dance
You need no Ph.D.
So take it for a spin
Grab that wind-up key
Wind the one in front
In turn your key will spin
You'll be waltzing
With invisible violins
The key is turning wildly in the wind-up monkey's back
With that little drum a pounding you're sounding the attack
A little fuzzy wind-up toy a buzzing out the blues
So happy that you've found some one
To tell your troubles to
It's the wacky way to unwind
Do the Wind-up Monkey Dance
You don't have to go to France
To do the Wind-up Monkey Dance
The key is wound up tightly so you think that it's a knife
And you wind up just unwinding the story of your life
With frazzled song and dance you do the same old part
Behind your back the hole reveals a big ole broken heart
Take a step to the right and make a monkey pose
Take a step to the left and tumble to your toes
You get the swing of it and you're out of NRG
There's a key behind each monkey
Wind the one in front in turn your key will spin
You'll be waltzing with invisible violins
The family tree was shaken and no monkey dropped on you
So you pound upon your rib cage like that Ape Man used to do
You fix that busted drum and tone down your kazoo
Or else nobody's ever going to want to waltz with you
Mary told me about fighting with her mother... "You know what my mother and I fought about today, we quarreled over whether the wedding would be organic in structure like I want it, or formal which is something I don't want. She kept saying, 'you are the only bride I know who won't even your own mother do anything. All other mothers of brides get to run the wedding.' 'But mom this is a different kind of wedding,' I said, but she insisted that people can't wear blue jeans to a wedding. 'They can at this wedding if they want to,' I said."
"So that means I can wear my Frog City T-shirt, right?"
"I got so upset that I hung up on her once yesterday. Finally she said I'm going to be so mortified at the wedding that I'm going to spend the whole time in the kitchen. 'Mother, you're petty' I told her. 'You're so petty to be embarrassed by something that's going to be the most enjoyable and fun day of my life just because it's not going to be done the way that you want it to be. If you're really going to feel that badly about it and really don't want to come, then maybe I'll understand.' Then she called back later and told me she was going to get some cake pans and start baking."
The ceremony took place at the Green Residence. I was the best man, and wore my Frog City T-shirt under my suit. The vows were lifted from a Celestial Seasons Tea Box. When the Wedding Officiator announced, "You have now taken the plunge," Mary jumped so high hooting that she left her cowboy boots on the floor.
I toasted the Bride and Groom. "I will make this short and sweet. Short for Sam and Sweet for Mary. May you live long and prosper may you never thirst, may you be blessed with many children." Sam gave Mary his wedding gift of a Marten New Yorker guitar. Mary played a song that she had written for her Maid of Honor, and I played Winter Wedding.
WIND-UP MONKEY DANCE
There's a big commotion
About a monkey motion
It's not a locomotion
But you might get the notion
To do the monkey dance
You need no Ph.D.
So take it for a spin
Grab that wind-up key
Wind the one in front
In turn your key will spin
You'll be waltzing
With invisible violins
The key is turning wildly in the wind-up monkey's back
With that little drum a pounding you're sounding the attack
A little fuzzy wind-up toy a buzzing out the blues
So happy that you've found some one
To tell your troubles to
It's the wacky way to unwind
Do the Wind-up Monkey Dance
You don't have to go to France
To do the Wind-up Monkey Dance
The key is wound up tightly so you think that it's a knife
And you wind up just unwinding the story of your life
With frazzled song and dance you do the same old part
Behind your back the hole reveals a big ole broken heart
Take a step to the right and make a monkey pose
Take a step to the left and tumble to your toes
You get the swing of it and you're out of NRG
There's a key behind each monkey
Wind the one in front in turn your key will spin
You'll be waltzing with invisible violins
The family tree was shaken and no monkey dropped on you
So you pound upon your rib cage like that Ape Man used to do
You fix that busted drum and tone down your kazoo
Or else nobody's ever going to want to waltz with you
No comments:
Post a Comment