Black Bread for the Soul

Crawled into bed last night and slept like a log. I raised the print prices substantially - and it gave me a warm fuzzy feeling - similar to cognac.

When I awakened - there was a confirmation for a large order from an art buyer that had been in the works for the last two months. No fuss, no muss. No quibbling about prices. Yes - I still gave a substantial discount, but they ordered 18 prints and didn't even want them matted.

Then there were more questions from cyber-drones which I decided to stop answering. That gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling too. Sometimes, you need to protect your ego.

It has been a black couple of months since the start of the new year. Black toxins erupted from my lungs in the form of bronchitis and seemed symbolic of some deeper blackness in my soul.

You know I have a Russian Jewish background and the soul is very big in our thinking. Every culture has its own idea of the soul. The Russian / Jewish soul is made of a rich, black bread with fresh butter. Heavy and yet light at the same time. But when it goes stale - it needs to be tossed out - and replaced with fresh black bread.

A friend that I loaned $4000 to - materialized from my distant past and paid me back with interest. His wife did well in the antique business . He said he was clearning up old debts and let's just say that he arrived just in time to chase whatever bits of stale black soul needed to be sent to the soul vacuum cleaner (sorry but that's what happens if you drag a metaphor around too much).

I should note - for the record - that when I had money - I often gave it away with a grand melodramatic flourish. Nothing like it. Of course, when the money was gone - I could beg with the best of them.

It really is much more gratifying to give than to receive - if you can swing it and if you find the right recipient. These days - my grand gesture is limited to purchasing CDs for John - the neighborhood savant - that uses his body to reserve parking spots for the local garage, and uses his eyes to spot meter maids.

I've been getting him CDs for years now - but with the advent of the iPod - it's a great system. I buy 'em but before I give them to him I transfer the songs (if I like them) to the iPod.

It's always exciting to see what John is going to request next (and his requests never end). He is the perfect person to give to because he expresses no thanks whatsover. When you give him something he immediately asks for something else. I like that.

Anyway - I gave him the Miles Davis CD he wanted and then he asked for - are you ready for this: Tommy James and the Shondells (sp?) - and I can't think of the name. Not, "I think we're alone now." But hooky pooky or something. He says its there first album.

The conversation goes like this. John is walking back and forth reserving an empty parking spot. He spies me and shouts:

JOHN
Dave! Dave! Did you get my CDs yet?

DAVE
I got 'em, John.

I approach him with one CD in my hand. He grabs it. Turns it over several times. A smile flickers - and I mean flickers - across his face.

DAVE
Is that the right one?

JOHN
That's it, Dave. That's it! Can you get me Tommy James for Easter?

DAVE
Tommy James?

JOHN
Tommy James and the Shondells. Can you get that for me, Dave? For Easter.

DAVE
Jeez. When is Easter?

JOHN
April 16th. Easter Sunday. April 16th. I won't be here on Sunday. Could you get it for me on Friday? Friday, April 14th. April 14th.

DAVE
Man. That's only a month away. I don't know.

JOHN
That's okay, Dave. That's okay. Don't get mad. (He smacks himself in the forehead - hard).

When he gets upset - which is often - words won't help. You need to touch him lightly on the arm, which I do.

JOHN
You're a good guy, Dave.

DAVE
But you want Tommy James and the Shondells. Which one?

JOHN
First album. First album. Can you get that for me, Dave. I grew up with that album. I had it on tape but it broke.

DAVE
Okay - maybe not for Easter. Maybe for the next holiday.

JOHN
Cinco de Mayo.

DAVE
Is that okay? May 5th?

JOHN
Cinco de Mayo. That's a Friday. I'll be here on Friday.

DAVE
Okay. You got it.

John shouts as I walk away:
Cinco de Mayo! Tommy James! That's a Friday, Dave.

He does have a calendar in his head. Knows every holiday and what day of the week it falls on.

And he's not a bad guy. And definitely not stupid. The neighborhood is filled with an assortment of what I'd call borderliners. Yes, they live in this upscale, expensive neighborhood - but some of 'em are going to soup kitchens for lunch.

I haven't been to any of the soup kitchens around here, though I've been invited by one of the bottle cleaners for lunch. I wonder if they've got black bread there?