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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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Days off, up the Crystal mountain, collecting, then out with Chris.
Guy from work, took him on a few prospecting excursions, showed him what was what, he's dying to go on a few more...
I don't blame him. I was at his place, the clusters he dug out of the Crystal mountain, I knew they were there, had made 4 trips up the mountain, snow ended every trip, the fifth trip I bring him along and we find it..
I would have found it without him. AND it would have all been mine.
So, like, I don't wanna speak but my largesse, my generosity, it's costing my sanity dear. "Our" claim, but, really, mine, and not that I don't mind sharing but...you get it.
Now I'm trying to limit my time out with him, take him and show him some fluorite seams, show him how pretty it is under a black light, next thing he's got a few buckets at his place, pictures of it posted on Facebook.
And, every time I'm at his place I marvel at the size of the clusters he got from that pocket, easy $500-1000 apiece.
Take him up to explore some old abandoned mines, deep inside, his flash going off and ruining my photos. His photos, again, the next day on Facebook.
When we're off and not finding stuff - which is 99.9% of the job, he gets bored, wants to give up, go elsewhere.
Meanwhile, a couple of photos inside a mine, fungi growing off of guano:
silvery filaments, like a fine wire silver...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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He's been getting up and around, hitchhiking out to Balfour to pay me visits, bring me sacks of rubbish he's gathered from free piles (and always a few scrolls), it's good to see him off his scooter, coming into the restaurant to lord it over me, get free salads, fries, desserts, then complain about the prices...
He sits on the beach, enjoys the view, stops and talks to the customers (!!STORMY - STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!).
I go around to visit him at his apartment - the artist in his studio:
The marionette of the Mexican with the Ukulele, the hula girl doll, I found them in a free pile and hung them on his doorknob...he's arranged them festively with some Xmas ornaments.
He assures me he's been cleaning out his place, tidying up...
A short visit, the smell grows unbearable, the only way you'd know is if you were a CSI that showed up a month late to the death of a hoarder, there's a body in here somewhere, and he's inviting me for dinner, he's going to make it, amazing, and I can't even breathe in here, let alone imagine eating food, but it's a week away and I'll just have to deal with it when the time comes...
And the treasures just pile up in the back of the jeep and I'm afraid to unbox them...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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And, now that the restaurant has slowed down a bit, time to clean, and ...
Chris has added me on Facebook. I don't play facebook, never post updates, but it's become a new way to torment the chef at work: "Why don't you add me as a friend on facebook?" I ask....
I know damned well, I wouldn't ask me either...
Eventually he caves, adds me, removes me, adjusts some filters and settings so presumably friends and family can't see my posts...
So it begins. Chris and I, we begin asking him questions. Questions like: "How old was Smeagol when he lost the ring...?" and "What kind of dragon makes the best pet?" and "Do you think Shadowfax was better than Pegasus?" and "Dumbledore VS Gandalf...?", and Ken, poor Ken, he can't help himself, he has to answer..."Shadowfax couldn't fly..." and "Galdalf the Grey or Gandalf the White...?".
It's too easy this, shooting fish in a barrel, but it's some slight entertainment to tide me over until I can attend my own devices...
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Yep. 77, give or take: I have to work, early, but I meet him at home and then arrange to carry some of his props to the Orange Bridge, we'll set up in it's shadow and celebrate in style:
His invite, directions, presents for everyone that care to attend.
Raring to go and packed with supplies, he's got a teapot filled with tea, gin, mini-sausages and baby potatoes wrapped in an old sock, umbrellas for the sun, deck chairs, the guy is nothing if not prepared...
He even packed a teacup for me. With old sugar package cemented to the bottom...
and a dirty saucer for my sausages and potatoes...
Mmmm. Bottled water, if you're thirsty. One look at the color says that while it's still early, gin is the better option...
Music, tea, etc.
In the end it was a shame I had to work, he'd clearly went out of his way to make a good plan for the day. But we'll have it again soon when the restaurant closes and we can do a better job...
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It's up on Longbeach road, guy I work with, I'm not at all interested, I want to be in town, know I'll need work for the winter, I'm thinking ahead. But he shows it to me anyways, a double wide trailer, better inside than out, I'd have my own bedroom, $600 a month, ignore the chickens...
..that are filling the closet, they're only there temporarily, until they can be moved to the coop, the stink of chickenshit fills the room, the whole trailer(s), his own bedroom, floor covered in dirty laundry, the whole proposition, like so many out here, filled with despair, and I'm polite, don't want to burn any bridges but I'm not quite there yet, maybe in January...