Dad’s Quirks – working paper – 3-11-2012
Angeline, Stupidine
Little red FR-EN and EN-FR dictionary
Les gortons
Elle a reussi, cette fois ci ~ 1943 in kitchen in front of visitors
Riders of the Purple Sage
The Wolf Tracker
Amber’s Mirage
&&&
America’s most popular writer of the Old West always gets and keeps his readers/listeners in the grip of suspense and thrills. James Drury reads these two stories (Amber’s Mirage is also included) with drama and great characterizations. He helps listeners develop empathy with both the wolf and the wolf tracker. In the second story we truly believe in Amber’s Mirage and the gold fever of Ruby, Jim and Al. The combination of a great storyteller and an award-winning actor will attract listeners who like Westerns, romance and drama. S.C.A. (c)AudioFile, Portland, Maine
&&&
The oaken chest of drawers – a wedding gift for Claire and Ben, I believe, from some well-meaning relative – sat in the open at the far end of our living room by the entrance to Mom’s beauty parlor. It’s four, handsome compartments usually attracts no special attention from me or anyone else in the house. I wonder, though, is that tattered, brown leather pouch containing my small collection of representative, foreign coins – Indian, German, British and Canadian – that I have been slowly accumulating over the years stored there in one of those four drawers?
No, that special collection of coins is stored neatly away with my collection of foreign stamps in the front room of our tenement. But, that large front room – it was once the main parlor of an attractive, and spacious, two-story single-family house – remains seasonally closed to all human traffic during these frigid, winter months of November through March. Before the age of central heating, which the Romans successfully introduced into their dwellings about 1900 years ago, families challenged by sub-standard housing managed to cope with the deadly threats of a chilly winter by closing off portions of their living space. Usually, this front room, la chambre par en avant, and the back bedroom – the one where Bob and I share a bunk bed – near the black-clad, yellow enamel, kitchen stove – a surprisingly efficient oil guzzler – remain terra incognita – a warehouse of unused furniture – during the winter months. I believe that a grocer could keep his fresh meats at these freezing temperatures.
No, that chest of drawers holds mostly Dad’s stuff, his personal belongings, like two, heavy, woolen shirts – red and black in hue – that are often worn in the woods of Maine by lumberjacks hacking and sawing their way to local fame in the dead of a snowy winter. During the long, ashen-gray days of blustery, coastal, Massachusetts winters, such bulky shirts and, of course, a sturdy Mackinaw jacket are essential for comfort and survival to anyone daring to wander the city streets.
Not having the advantage of a personal vehicle, my Dad, Ben Bolduc, has to hoof his way in heavy, rubber overshoes back home through mud, sleet and snow from the local bus stop at Aiken and West Sixth Streets. I wonder if that extra, half-mile trek home through the snow-laden canyons of gray tenement apartments seems extra discouraging to him? I bet that a brisk freezing stroll is the last thing he needs to top off a long workday. Yet, he seems to do it without a grumble, but he doesn’t smile and joke a lot.
If physical adversity is good for the soul, as several Russian novelists would have us believe, then my 38-year-old father is rapidly working his way toward attaining a truly outstanding soul! This is all work in progress – slow changes happening at a snail’s pace..
In our everyday chatter, we seldom talk about such things, but maybe this is a tried-and-true road to quiet and very ordinary sainthood? it’s really not clear. However, muddy overshoes, sweaty socks and blistered feet may be worth more spiritually at the end of a hard life than special Masses, rosary sessions and novenas?
How else can poorly educated, Franco-American parishioners ever earn their eternal reward in Heaven? Theology and Church doctrine really interest me a lot. There are so many questions to ask and answers to seek. Maybe, I’ll become a Jesuit priest and work my way up the church ladder to a theology post at the Vatican? It’s a worthwhile goal and a great career, too.
My search through Dad’s stuff continues as my enthusiasm for the quest becomes heightened. Two, tattered, dime-store novels – cheap, dog-eared, Western stories by Zane Grey – lay tucked away in a dark, corner recess of the second drawer.
Yes, right near two, somewhat tattered, white shirts and several pairs of dark socks that he wears when driving a taxicab for Spike Beauparlant, I stumble upon the prize. There, before my eyes, is proof positive of his interest in literature, or at least, the common man’s view of literature. At my finger tips, I find “Amber’s Mirage” and also “The Wolf Tracker”. Isn’t that peculiar and interesting!
Often, after returning home from his first job at the textile mills, he seems to dive into the Lowell Sun for local news and some quiet relaxation. I like to see him quietly reading while sitting on the couch, but he seems angry that Truman is still the President after the last election. We don’t care for Truman. Everybody knows, “He’s just a bum.”
These Zane Grey novels tell a different story! Here I see an interest in Western and cowboy lore that I did not know about. Maybe, parents have secret sides to them that kids don’t know or understand?
Late at night, after returning from his four-hour stint at the taxi stand, he walks home for some quiet time at the kitchen table. I am, naturally, fast asleep at that time since this part of his day happens around 11:00 P.M. Maybe, this is his Zane Grey hour? Maybe, this is the father I don’t know, but wish that I did? Does he like cowboy and Indian movies? Is Tonto, the only Indian we can trust?
But, wait, there is more – much more! It’s a real gem of a discovery, une découverte, that years later would still manage to excite and interest me, deeply. It’s at a time like this when the sad misgivings of a son – disappointments might be a better term – for his father’s lack of clear, financial success in the work-a-day world of textile factories becomes really apparent that, suddenly, a brilliant discovery – a real pearl – shines through. Such a wonderful, new piece of evidence can change a son’s relationship with his father forever!
Tucked away and hidden to the right in the third drawer down, just behind some worn-out and tattered T-shirts and a sadly failing tooth brush, is the literary mother load of my life so far. It’s a small, thin, red covered French-English, FR-EG, and English-French, EN-FR, dictionary. The print is tiny but an alphabetic, thumb index located to the right of each page makes finding words in the two languages quiet straight-forward.
What a discovery! What a wonderful, wonderful discovery! I just love words.
Now, when I wish to say something correctly in French or I am curious about a unique French word, I can simply go to my dependable source, my Dad’s neat and very portable dictionary, to get the real scoop.
Naturally, I must try it out this new word gadget immediately. As luck would have it, I am well prepared for this exercise. It was only this morning that Mom again called my father angrily un marabout. I have heard this insult many, many times before, but what does it mean?
From its daily use in context, the shadowy meaning would suggest a difficult, cranky, angry and sullen person, man and never a woman, who is often in an internal state of distress. Yes, that is quite often my Dad, but is there an English equivalent for such an adjective? Fortunately, my new dictionary might come in handy. However, disappointment soon crosses my path. My new lexicon is excellent for common words and expressions used in these two languages and that is where it stops.
Epiloque: Many years later, Wikipedia will come to my rescue with the following information:
Marabout: A Muslim holy name especially in North Africa. The word has Berber roots and was highly influenced by the Portuguese language.
It is curious that the official definition completely lacks the more homey use of the term defining my father’s temperament.
