Things are moving ahead in terms of knowing and meeting people in the River Dog area. It's much slower than compared to the fair mo' city (our last assignment), where getting in with a particular religious group can instantly win you dozens of allies.
My accross the street neighbor Giovani and I have continued our Saturday night gatherings over a beer or three. Recently we met in my heated garage - the greatest man cave ever.
And last week I was hired by Ron to assist in installing a deck. It was only a three day job but better than nothing. And the good news is that I'm pretty sure Ron liked me. It sounds as though I will be his right hand man on any future jobs that require two people.
Although Ron is probably the most micro-managing human I've ever worked for. It makes sense as he's a very meticulous carpenter that usually works alone. But I was having flashbacks of working for Son and Dad Tree Service, Inc in the fair mo' city...
And speaking of, I will soon be making a trek back to the city of our first assignment. It is a reluctant homecoming, one that will be celebrated beyond measure. But the purpose is to deliver my truck to TX to be sold. And I'm not overly smiley about that. So it goes.
Suicide is a huge dark cloud that covers over remote native regions. I believe there are very real historic and spiritual reasons for this, mostly thanks to Euro-colonization of the North American continent and all of its ills. It's just a fact: the natives were given the raw end of the deal.
But the hopelessness lives on for generations, or so it seems.
I had no idea we would be faced with this level of despair. It's almost tempting to believe that living in the comfort of the fair mo' city (TX) forever would have been a good idea. Almost.
I trust the creator knew what he was doing when he sent us here. Lord, strengthen us. We will stand firm.
Again, thanks for the prayers on my loneliness and progress in this new assignment. Slowly but surely, I am meeting a few folks. So, thanks very much!
My new request is: I need work. Now. I need to get out of the house or something. It could be a long while before I get into a house flip project again.
But Saturday night my across the street neighbor Giovanni Tuscannini invited me out to get a beer. Or three. We walked to some local joint down Main Street, a few blocks from our houses.
We actually knew of Gio and his wife Cher before we moved to our new house two months ago. Cher and my wife's cousin Trina are close friends. Cher gave us all the inside scoop on this house. We thought it'd give us ammo to win a low bid. It worked a little.
I hear through the grapevine that Gio's father committed suicide a couple of years back. After that, he shut most people out of his life. So according to Trina, our outing the other night must have been his first moments out of his shell. I'm honored to be reached out by him.
Gio grew up in the Big City with his Italian immigrant dad. Cher grew up on a native reserve in northern Saskatchewan and actually experienced the horrors of residential schools. I'm told they both don't care for the creator. Or at least, if he's referred to as "god". Trina's husband Mark conducted their wedding ceremony a while back where he was instructed not to use the word "god".
This is a very different environment from what I'm use to, on so many levels.
Gio was the most down-to-earth intellectual type of guy. I really appreciated his invitation out.
I needed that. Bad.
I met Ron at the dump. The River Dog sanitation ground is about five minutes out of town and up the hill. That place is run by the Dump Nazi. I haven't had any grief from the Dump Nazi yet, as I learned how to kiss his ass by observing how my cousin Mark pissed him off once (no tarp over the load, arrive five minutes before closing, no exact change). I follow all the rules and turn on the Southern charm, so the Dump Nazi likes me OK.
But Ron is a piece of work in his own right. I've always been attracted to intense, strangely counter-culture people. I seem to be a magnet for them. Ron pulled up next to me to unload debris and immediately struck up a conversation due to my Texas plates. I have met more new people due to that truck than I would have imagined. Too bad it will come to an end soon (another story).
Ron is an independent carpenter/handyman. I asked him if he ever looked for helpers, then handed him one of my cheesy homemade business cards. He didn't look interested at the moment.
But he slowly warmed up to me as we unloaded our trucks and I asked all of the questions I had accumulated for basement renovations, my current project on our own house (keeps me busy but pays zero). He loved sharing info and quickly warmed up to me. I've learned over the years to bow down to people's experience, even though this carpenter was missing a finger. We must have sat against our trucks and talked for 45 minutes out in the dump. He's quite the racist, having left his native Toronto because of all the "blacks, browns, and foreigners". I have met more racist rednecks in Saskatchewan then I ever knew in 39 years in Texas. Who knew.
Ron has several internet friends in Texas, so he became interested in me. I've since run into Ron several times (typical small town stunts). He's seen me walking down town once and just pulled over and got out to talk. He likes to talk but I suspect it's also his excuse to smoke cigarettes. Hey, whatever works.
Ron has a job coming up building a deck, which requires two people. I'm hoping he'll use me. I'd love to work for him. There's a chance I'll soon be working with a home install crew out of one of the local hardware stores. But I'd rather work for an independent guy like Ron.
He's pretty interesting.
* Big thanks for all of those who have been praying for my adjustment. It has really helped. I had a very rough week last week. And the blahs finally broke about friday afternoon. These blahs still come and go. But things are looking up for now. I would appreciate continued communications to the creator on my behalf. And it doesn't hurt to hear from you either. Thanks!
Poverty generally has some universal traits. Trashiness is a good example. While many exceptions abound, most stuck within a poverty culture care little about cleanliness. This slaps the middle class in the face. I have many spiritually laced theories for both littering and anti-littering, both sides have positives and negatives.
My personal bent is if Jesus cared for others and we should do likewise, then maybe keeping ones property neat or not destroying someone elses environment would serve them. But enough of me.
In the fair 'mo city, Texas, 9 out of 10 of the poverty culture were trash throwers. But the religious culture would influence the poverty culture to do it when no one was looking. Or with malicious winks and cute smirks.
Here in River Dog, the first nations (native) people, who are by far the poverty culture of Canada, have no shame in throwing trash on the streets. It's blatant. I've seen it more than once.
It's like they hate the history of white culture and its oppression. So in any small way they can piss someone off they will.
I'm kind of indifferent. I do my best to observe and blend into this culture and not judge and so forth. But Canada has a pretty fair recycling gig going on. I probably collect $5 in trash a week just walking the kid to school and the dog in the evening. So it's win/win for me!
But I'm not use to this blatant-ness.
Last week I witnesses a native guy walking with his gal across our street carrying an open beer in his hand and drinking in broad day light. I mean, he wasn't even TRYING to hide anything. Like he has a death wish with the RCMP down my block or something.
Fair 'mo city: hide your ills. Keep the outside of that cup polished.
River Dog: Be honest.
I think I will like it here.
Things are moving ahead in terms of knowing and meeting people in the River Dog area. It's much slower than compared to the fair mo' city (our last assignment), where getting in with a particular religious group can instantly win you dozens of allies.
