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Date: March 3, 2004
Lake Tekapo, New Zealand
This summer New Zealand’s weather is worse than it has been in hundreds
of years. A few days ago, just as I was regretting not buying a hat, I found a
colorful wool hat in perfect condition alongside the road. The next day, my head
was warm but my feet were cold.” Soon, I found one sock and then, 200 meters
later, the other.
Today, while I’m sitting outside a supermarket eating day-old bread
on the cement among the potted plants and whitewashed walls, an old man sneaks
up from the side, suddenly putting his overgrown eyebrows in front of mine and
says in an accent twice as thick as Willy’s from The Simpson’s, “Where’s
your hat, lad?” I was going to put some money in it.”
I slide my bicycle helmet over, “Here ya go.”
“Oh, well--" he gestures with his shoulder shrugged high and shorts
tugged low "--I'm a Scotsman: short arms, deep pockets." He pats me
on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. You probably think I'm a crazy old arse; I'm not. I just
say what is on my mind, like everyone should. Life’s too short to take seriously,
to be sitting around like this --" he yanks the loose skin of face down like
a bulldog pout. "One day, cancer will be knocking on your door, 'Are you
having a g'day, mate?' I'll be pushing up daisies soon enough. (If they cremate
me, I'll burn for three days from all the whiskey I drank.) I remember during
The War--" He pantomimes marching with a sign "--everyone saying, 'The
end is near.' Ha! I'm still here." He kneels on one creaking knee. I feel
obliged to stand, and we both stand. "I've done everything: I've been all
over New Zealand. I've been to America. I have a family: I love my family. I've
been parachuting and bunji jumping." He sees my eyes tracking a couple of
beautiful lasses. He crouches low and jabs his fist, "I've done my fair share
of rooting." I laugh.
"I have, mate. Why not? That's what we're here for. I know people how
haven't done any." He places his fingertips on his chest and mocks, "'Oh,
no, not me.' It's a bloody shame. I’ll be 75 next March and I can still
do everything." With a smirk, I ask, "Can you still root?"
His caterpillar eyebrows leap halfway up his brow. "You'd better believe
I can. Well... I should let you go. You probably think I'm mad but I wanted to
put a smile on your face. That's the problem today -- no one talks to each other.
I talk to whoever I want; I don't care. Good luck to you. Have some fun."
He gestures to my bike, "It may take you all day to get somewhere but who
cares."
The universe has a knack for providing.
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