Ted Kooser, the poet laureate of the US was a guest on a radio show that I listened to last week and said, “all art is learned through emulation". I would guess that is largely true. Largely.

I’ve finished listening to the following audiotapes:

The Greatest Generation by Tom Brokaw
The Old Forest by Peter Taylor
The Scout by Harry Combs

By listening to the audio books I pick up pointers as to the different styles, writers and narrators both, use to tell a story. When they are one and the same, it's special.The down side in listening is that I don't learn proper punctuation. I’ll put that on my “to do” list but there are things on this list undone that date back to the early seventies, maybe even earlier.

I also heard during a different show that same day that “the analogy was dead". I stood there for a moment,turned my head a little and with my mouth slightly agape mouthed in silence those very words and then punctuated with a Bronx cheer, proper or not.

This desire I have to learn to write has been propagated by my wish to emulate the musicians,artists and the writers who have influenced me with the power of the written word. It's part and parcel of the person I am today. Writing well is not easy but since failure is not a pressing issue for me and whereas failing to try is, I am opting to try.

So, I am an apprentice again and that suits me real well because this time I am in control of both aspects of the training. The Cosmos and Poemster blogs are places where I can play and be creative. As I reach equilibrium, little downside I find. Your feedback has been kind and I thank you. It really helps. I’ve taken to referring to what I do as “righting” instead of writing because of the cathartic effect it has had for me. My being a “hands on” and do-it-yourself type may finally pay dividends and I'm not referring to money. I believe that “trickle down” is best employed when it applies to people and the goodness they hold within.

I know that a strong point of mine is not organization and writing has helped me examine and lend order to some of the experiences I have had along the way. I know now that my life has been and continues to be a series of short excursions rather than one long journey. A long journey can be a tedious affair and my life does not remotely resemble hardship of any kind.

And my latest trek, this one right here, has just gotten underway.

One day, in my first years of living in Vermont, I noticed an elderly man fishing in the little brook across the road from my front yard. The brook in this section is some 50 feet down over an embankment and because of a flood in the mid 1900’s it was lined by the Army Corp of Engineers with what I know as “rip-rap”. Riprap is fair to large sized rocks with sharp angular edges that will not slide or give easily. It protects the bank from erosion when the river is raging.

Anyway, I said hello to the guy and he looked up and then returned to his fishing raising his rod tip instead of acknowledging me. “What are you fishing for” I asked as I traversed the rocks to get a little closer. I suppose he figured me out quickly and realized I would not be dissuaded easily so he decided to answer saying “Brook trout”. They stock this brook with trout so I get them and put them in my pond.”

Now, whereas he was talking his demeanor was still coarse and unfriendly so I didn’t push the issue. I said “good luck” and climbed back up the bank.

It was sometime later; while talking with an overly friendly neighbor that I learned that “Lanny” was a local builder/real estate broker in the small town in which I live. In fact he “fixed up” and sold my house to the person who sold it to me. Prior to taking the decision to renovate the house he had put it on the market “as a fixer upper” and a major selling point from an ad I read in a newspaper saved by the very same friendly neighbor read: only one ceiling is down and needs replacement.

Such a deal!

I also learned in conversation that the man and his wife had at one time two sons both of whom had died at an early age albeit not at the same time.

Whoosh!

That would explain that I thought to myself while immediately putting myself in his shoes for only the briefest moment. In an instant, he went from being a “prick” to doing remarkably well in my view. I can’t even imagine what this must be like. I’d want to kill the world. Or at least myself.

Years later I received a call from the man’s wife asking me to repair a burn mark on one of the wooden steps left by a careless renter when a candle burned down too far. Luckily, the house didn’t burn down. They were preparing the house to be put on the market. Lanny’s health was slipping a bit and even as I arrived he was sleeping in the living room in a green leather recliner across from the stairway. I talked with his wife in the kitchen and then she showed me the burn and I got right to it.

Quietly, I pulled out a small thin rectangular piece of metal that is prepared with a small burl at the end that takes wood shavings. I used this in lieu of sandpaper as it would create no dust and the cleanup would be nil. While scraping the stair tread I heard “guys around here wouldn’t even know how to use a scraper”. Lanny was awake now.

The stairway was built of ash, a wood similar to oak in appearance. He had made a raised panel wall behind the staircase, which lent a formal look to the stairwell, and it was all stained a medium dark brown color. It was nice.

Then he said: “I’m an ash man”.

I smiled and with a nod and facial contortion that would let him know that I understood the joke, I replied “me too”. I looked to see he had a wry smile on his face. He inspected the tread and went to fetch the stain I would need to finish the work. I finished up with him looking on and then cleaned up and left the house.

It was sometime during the following summer that the couple had me over to fix some rotted wood on the front porch. As I worked on the porch Lanny sat on the chaise and told me stories of achievements, business dealings, extra-marital affairs that he (and his wife for that matter) had had and so on and so on. He did not mention nor did I ask about his sons.

Originally from Texas and then to Brooklyn, NY and later to Vermont they would soon winter in Texas and spend only summers in VT. Normally, someone in my position would not appreciate having a homeowner “looking over my shoulder” as they say but it wasn’t like that at all. I liked his company and besides we were both “ash men”. He told me to always keep my desire to do quality work and never let anything erode this need. It's always nice when someone notices but this time moreso because he knew what it takes.

In the years to follow I would see the two in the summertime and every year Lanny would sit ever more still in the passenger seat until one year he came no more.

A small piece of metal was all that it took this time to soften some of the edges of the riprap we sometimes pile onto ourselves in an effort to protect ourselves from the cruelties this life can serve up. I’ve done it myself so I know. It’s in our nature and I wouldn’t suggest any alternative as a better solution. But I would be remiss if I didn’t say that it could be so beneficial if one can seize the moments like these that although rare provide us with those quality moments in our lives that can never be eroded by anything.