Randy the Welder

I googled for a welder and found Randy. Contrary to my expectation, the address in the listing was not for a shop but a private home in a shady neighborhood at the edge of town. It turned out Randy operated his welding business from his garage.

The split-level house was old, shabby and showed an obvious lack of care. The lawn was shaggy, strewn with dead leaves and brown pine cones. The few decorative bushes near the doorstep were covered with dust and in dire need for pruning.

Rock music was blaring from the opened garage. Cobwebs lined the door frame, piles of disused tools and electrical cords cluttered the floor, all lying mute under a thick layer of hoary dirt.

Randy set up his workstation at the back of the room. A medium-sized man in blue jeans, worn flannel shirt and a red bandanna that covered most of his sandy hair, he looked fiftyish with a slightly lined face and pasty complexion. I explained what I needed then started looking around, spurred by the thing that killed the proverbial cat.

Everything about and around Randy told me he was a lonely man. There was that look of mild desolation permeating the whole place, and Randy fitted right in with his appearance that showed some half-hearted attempt at care. In one corner of the garage, under the ubiquitous layer of dust, stood an old stained drum kit with cymbals spotted with rust. As if reading the question in my mind he said he used to belong to a rock band.

"What happened to your band?" I asked.

"Broken up and gone, like all good things are," he replied.

There was a faint timbre of resignation in his voice. Better change the subject.

"Business been good?" I asked.

"Very slow lately," he replied. "It has its ups and downs though."

"Like everything else in this world," I said.

"Exactly," he heartily agreed.

His job done, I paid and left, feeling moody. Would I end up like Randy, ten or twenty years from now? He was being philosophical about it, but the fact remained that he was lonely and living in a dump with a broken dream.

Late April by Bato Dugarzhapov

I came across this painting by Russian artist Bato Dugarzhapov and felt attracted immediately. I think it pretty much summarizes what appeal to me most in life, which are sun-drenched flowers, blue sea and an overall simplicity.

Riley and Spring

The weather was unusually warm this February. One night I woke up to the sound of rain on my roof, the subdued pitter-pattering was so soothing it lulled me right back into pleasant slumbering.

The next morning, looking out of my bedroom window, I saw the cherry tree in my front yard sprouting with reddish young buds. A few days later it was in full glorious bloom, a mass of lively pink against the limpid blue sky. Across the street, the old gnarled dogwood tree transformed itself into a huge saturation of pure, tender white.

Then I met Riley for the first time. His parents and grandma are our regular customers so we knew he was coming into the world. His story we already heard from his granny one day when her daughter and son-in-law weren't there, that not so long ago a police officer had stopped a speeding car driven by an attractive young woman and given her a ticket, that the girl had been furious but the police officer had been so badly smitten that eventually they became Riley's mom and dad.

And now his mom had brought Riley for us to see, a beautiful four-month-old baby boy. His whole face was one huge smile, his big blue eyes were saying that being with us was his absolute pleasure, his gurgling mouth was declaring that he would love to discuss everything in the world with us. He also made it clear that he considered my finger a delicacy and kept trying to have a bite.

Seeing Riley was just like seeing spring. Both bring a happy smile to anyone they touch.

Another Old Friend

It had been nearly twenty years since we had last seen each other, and now he's stepping out of his white rental car, crossing my front yard in the light rain with a grin on his face.

We greeted each other without profusion, as if it had been just yesterday that we had parted. The café where we had met that last time no longer existed where we had lived half the world away, and added to our belts were two decades of assorted accomplishments and failures. Yet between us, it felt as if no interruption had ever taken place. He was now sitting in my chair, talking in the same peculiarly accented voice, showing the same insouciance towards everything in life.

We went out for dinner despite the rain that was getting heavier. I noticed that he still had his trademark gait, an awkward one caused by his feet kept too far apart resulting in an exaggerated swinging of his upper body. He remarked that I still had the same slightly lopsided smile and way of tapping my fingers on the table. The rest of our conversation was strictly current -- not much sense in reminiscing about the past when there is so much of the present, we tacitly agreed.

We said goodbye just as casually as when we had said hello. No big deal having been apart for twenty years or meeting again for just a couple of hours, for we would always be at ease with and understand each other no matter what.

Lone Tree

I saw this lone tree near the top of Stone Mountain outside Atlanta. I came here a few days after the big snowstorm, when the thaw had begun, to stretch my legs. The ground was still covered by snow, and I was surprised to see quite a crowd at the park.

For safety reason, a yellow tape that said police line do not cross blocked the entrance to the trail to the mountain top, which however didn't stop anyone from going around the tape to continue their climb. I simply followed the crowd and found out that the trail was indeed a dangerous mix of ice, snow and running water on slippery rock. Still it was wonderful to be outdoors again and breathe in the cool fresh air laced with a delightful dose of pine scent. Halfway to the top I had to sit down and panted like an old dog on a hot day. Boy, I had no idea I was so out of shape, but the view was totally worth it.