When I was born, my dad hung gutters on homes. Eventually he would become a writer. His own dad bred rodeo horses and built hospitals. And his dad delivered big blocks of ice to homes before there were electric refrigerators. And his dad repaired carburetors when cars were first introduced to city streets. One evening, two men stopped the horse drawn carriage he was riding home and murdered him for a pocket of cash.
When I was born, my dad hung gutters on homes. Eventually he would become a writer.
His own dad bred rodeo horses and built hospitals.
And his dad delivered big blocks of ice to homes before there were electric refrigerators.
And his dad repaired carburetors when cars were first introduced to city streets. One evening, two men stopped the horse drawn carriage he was riding home and murdered him for a pocket of cash.
In the U.S. (and other places, I’m sure) we’re usually defined by our jobs and careers. Meeting someone new quickly turns to, “So what do you do?”
I get it. It’s easy small talk. But the answer is rarely fertile ground for a conversation. And I’ve met too many successful idiots for professional achievement to be an indicator of anything worthwhile.
What I’m about to say is going to sound too folksy - but there’s no way around it.
I think you just need 2 ingredients to really know someone. A bottle of whiskey and a campfire. Doesn’t even have to be out in the woods. Someone’s backyard fire pit is fine if the neighbors are cool.
The fire sparks up introspection.
The whiskey removes barriers - good and bad.
Not sure why I thought of that. Maybe the echo of a missing father figure from 100 years ago. Maybe I want my own kids to know me better than some guy who spent their childhood at work.
As you were.
~ The Magnificent Bastard
YOU MEME THE WORLD TO ME
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A broken boiler threatened the very existence of six washbacks full of precious liquid. The team tried everything they could to get the boiler going, but to no avail.
