Just Please Don't Get Out of Your Van
Josh takes great pride in his ability to be patient - and yes, his claims are warranted:
Yesterday, while Ellie and Henry fed apple scraps to the chickens and Josh and I scrounged through the menagerie of old bolts that came with the Cub Lo-Boy, a silver van pulled into our driveway.
"You the guy who was cutting down trees on the fence line with a chain saw?" our drug-dealing-across-the-field-neighbor leaned across his passenger seat to yell at Josh. "Well, I've got a whole bunch of dead trees in my yard that need to be cut down, and I can't do it, on account of I'm handicapped," (he holds up his cane), "and if you want to cut them down you can keep all the wood for yourself!"
While just out of earshot I make commentary "it's good to see you, when will you be returning to prison?" "handicapped - you're just over weight and sedentary, please", and "man, we live in a forest, why would we want your old trees?" Josh says very pleasant things like, "oh, sure, if I can find the time I'll be happy to take down your trees," and "yes, I did go to school with your kids," "great to see you, hope that things work out with your son and Tallia!" Patient and pleasant, Josh is the best.
Though sometimes:
Last summer, I was running out of the house, late on my way to a baby shower, when a light blue van pulled into the driveway and blocked my way. Already, I was fuming. Josh had escorted me to the car, and so we waited - Josh curiously, me with rage torpedoing from my eyes - to see who would emerge. After a time, a man walked up to share with us the good news of the Jehovah's Witnesses. "Sorry, we're Lutherans!" (This had worked well once before, when we sent two Mormons moving along their way on the street in Cambridge.) "And we've got to go, running late, so could you please move your car?" (Perfect, I thought, and it provides Josh with an escape as well.) But he is forthright, "well, I'm not going, so you can move your car and tell me more." "And Josh, could you please take the clothes off the line, because it's going to start raining any moment - like even right now." (Clever, I thought, and then Josh can utilize the escape that he missed moments ago.) "Okay," he said, "I'll definitely do it sometime before the rain starts." By this time the van's passenger had moved to the driver's seat and moved the van out of my way, and I was off for the baby shower, wondering about Josh's capacity to ignore his own need for self preservation and listen to what others would have happily avoided. He called me a short while later, "and you know what else? He's also a dog chiropractor!" Patient, pleasant, lover of animals, and still listening to me talk? It's true. Josh is the best.
Yesterday, while Ellie and Henry fed apple scraps to the chickens and Josh and I scrounged through the menagerie of old bolts that came with the Cub Lo-Boy, a silver van pulled into our driveway.
"You the guy who was cutting down trees on the fence line with a chain saw?" our drug-dealing-across-the-field-neighbor leaned across his passenger seat to yell at Josh. "Well, I've got a whole bunch of dead trees in my yard that need to be cut down, and I can't do it, on account of I'm handicapped," (he holds up his cane), "and if you want to cut them down you can keep all the wood for yourself!"
While just out of earshot I make commentary "it's good to see you, when will you be returning to prison?" "handicapped - you're just over weight and sedentary, please", and "man, we live in a forest, why would we want your old trees?" Josh says very pleasant things like, "oh, sure, if I can find the time I'll be happy to take down your trees," and "yes, I did go to school with your kids," "great to see you, hope that things work out with your son and Tallia!" Patient and pleasant, Josh is the best.
Though sometimes:
Last summer, I was running out of the house, late on my way to a baby shower, when a light blue van pulled into the driveway and blocked my way. Already, I was fuming. Josh had escorted me to the car, and so we waited - Josh curiously, me with rage torpedoing from my eyes - to see who would emerge. After a time, a man walked up to share with us the good news of the Jehovah's Witnesses. "Sorry, we're Lutherans!" (This had worked well once before, when we sent two Mormons moving along their way on the street in Cambridge.) "And we've got to go, running late, so could you please move your car?" (Perfect, I thought, and it provides Josh with an escape as well.) But he is forthright, "well, I'm not going, so you can move your car and tell me more." "And Josh, could you please take the clothes off the line, because it's going to start raining any moment - like even right now." (Clever, I thought, and then Josh can utilize the escape that he missed moments ago.) "Okay," he said, "I'll definitely do it sometime before the rain starts." By this time the van's passenger had moved to the driver's seat and moved the van out of my way, and I was off for the baby shower, wondering about Josh's capacity to ignore his own need for self preservation and listen to what others would have happily avoided. He called me a short while later, "and you know what else? He's also a dog chiropractor!" Patient, pleasant, lover of animals, and still listening to me talk? It's true. Josh is the best.
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