TARD'S AND BANDSAWS

I was able to get back on at the state school. This time at the Evaluation rehabilitation Center's Wood shop. We made cedar furniture to be sold at the twice annual "garage sales"
held at Auditorium Shores on town lake, a city owned chunk of parkland on the banks of the Colorado river, called Town lake on this stretch, and home to many events like ours and other more festive events with live music and all that.
Anyhow, we had this building full of industrial strength equipment...Bandsaws, rip saws, table saws, drill presses and this enormous planer that scared the shit out of me.
We oversaw the clients (RETARDED may I remind you) as they operated this equipment equipped with various jigs to guide them in their cuts. An assembly line of tasks that we would assemble into some of the most beautiful raw cedar furniture you have ever seen in your life.
It was an awesome experience, instilling in a me a stronger belief that you could do anything, for anyone, provided you had the ability to create a framework for that success.
We had that ability in the woman who ran the woodshop. That's right...a woman.
She was from hard scrabble stock, a single mother of two who, in addition to owning and maintaining a farm and a family, was smart enough to organize and run a furniture shop manned almost to a man by retarded men. The staff did the detail stuff mostly, when we said the clients made this stuff we meant it.
She had known me since I was 12. She had worked closely with my dad and they remained close friends when he moved on to staff development.
She knew everything about me.
On the one hand, because we were close, she cut me slack. On the other hand, she was constantly trying to be my stepmom or something. I also had been picking up on a sexual vibe from her since I was about sixteen. This was especially evident in her constant flow of advice regarding my girlfriends.
She once invited out for a weekend at the farm riding horses etc., and, oh by the way, older son is out of town and younger son is at the grandparents...we'd have the place to ourselves.
I was a bit freaked and more than a little intrigued, I mean, here was a woman I'd known since I was 12 practically saying " come to my farm and let me seduce you" when I was 16.
She was attractive in that rough but pretty "I will rock you and hurt you"
and you'll love every minute of it sort of way.
I often wonder what would have happened if I had spent the weekend with her, part of me is glad I didn't and part of me still thinks about what could have been if I had.
That whole older woman fantasy and all.
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Home life was an adjustment. Here I was, living with my parents at 21, making decent money and no bills to pay except for kicking in on food. I had no bank account beyond cashing my check and putting the proceeds into my sock drawer. I saved up money and bought a 1965 1/2 ton stepside chevy pick up with a police interceptor 350 motor. It was a fast ride in disguise.
I spent most nights at a local pool hall/music venue, drinking and playing pool. When I wasn't working, I was out with Buddy. The park, the lake, the drag. I was in the park one afternoon and walked past the canoe rental with buddy.
The girl working there called out to me "what kind of dog IS that"? Buddy was about 115 pounds with the bone size of a great dane but the appearance of a husky, complete with curved coffee table clearing tail. He had the coat of a husky, but was brindle red, like a dane. he was also the smartest most obedient dog on the planet...and a chick magnet:).
Turns out, I knew her from high school. She invited me to come canoeing after hours the next day with buddy. She would bring her dog, who had many names but I remember him as "Hounders". The four of us would hook up. It was good for a while, then it went south, but not in a hurry. Slowly, painfully south.
The era of "Nisee" had arrived.