“I think this table is not even.”
“No, Pop. I just can’t shoot pool.”
“Here, let me get my level.”
“Would you just shoot?”
He smiles and, for a moment, his two tone eyes cast determination in my direction. Cyan chalk particles shave from the tip of his cue, and blowing away the excess, he makes note of the angle for the three. A fire is lit. He is no longer in his seventies, living in a peaceful country hillside. He is barely twenty, and a buck-twenty, just ashore off the destroyer, whites crisp, looking for a beer and to drive them home.
“This is a move by Minnesota Fatts,” and with a lightning jab, causes the cueball to leap over the 11, sinking ball 6 in the left center pocket. It clacks and ambles down the ramp, finding rest with the previous five that met their match to his sharpshooting. I learned earlier that day that when he was younger, he enjoyed country western music, so I set the stage to create some memories.
As for me, I’ll remember the sadness
Shown in the eyes of the man
If we meet someday, you can bet I would say
That it’s me, Mr. Shorty, your friend
-Marty Robbins
For someone who cannot remember the contents of his previous dinner plate, he sure can croon every lyric to Mister Shorty without a beat. He continues singing as the next three are cradled into their pockets. Knowing his level of skill, when he has a near hit, I know it is a deliberate move to allow me a turn. I’m praised when I make a shot, and mourned with when my best efforts go down the drain. I’m encouraged to go at it again, and told I got this one. Sure enough, I do, unintentionally. If I have to describe what happened, it could only be that I felt right, with no what if or question. Another attempt, again I feel right, and the ball rolls to its hole.
Later on in the afternoon, we are outside enjoying the breeze flowing in the cool August air. When Pop speaks, his eyes and expressions are filled with lessons, if you’re willing to listen and learn.
He is fighting the war of the dandelions, the teraxacum officinale meeting the business end of a hoe hundreds of times per day. He describes his methodology: one day traversing the lawn horizontally; the next on the diagonal. “It all depends on my point of view, how many I find. Some days there are hundreds, and others, there are few. If I change my view even just slightly, I see so much more that is out there. I just have to keep at it.”
I have to agree with you, Indiana Slim.
When you were young, and your heart was an open book
You used to say live and let live
You know you did, you know you did, you know you did
But if this ever changing world which we live in makes you give in and cry
Say live and let die.
-Paul McCartney & Wings
A Walk In Neverland 