Post 381: Man up Mr U, for God’s sake…
Some days you have to make decisions; perhaps today the decisions will be made.
Perhaps they won’t.
I’m in bed after being in bed all day. All day because I’m tired. In bed with the ostrich egg, watching The Pitt (on Now).
It’s an exciting watch and, after the first few episodes getting to know the hospital characters, I’m now unable to turn it off. Im addicted.
The belly has no way of reducing for the suit fitting in three days, so I’ll eat as much chocolate as I like, thank you very much. Im addicted.
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At the car rally beside the hill, with all those cars, all I really remember are the faces.
Faces of the friends who stood beside me and talked kindly.
Some I spoke to had worse surgery for cancer than me.
I stop and think, while talking to them, of the horror they were in—the horror they survived.
What am I worried about? My surgery has not happened, nor has it been confirmed. I lie here thinking back to those conversations, and I know how lucky I’ve been.
But as lucky as I’ve been, I’m not happy.
Those people who stopped and made my day, meant that the cars became invisible due to the magnitude of the chats I had in front of the trinkets with four wheels that we lovingly polished.
The “how are yous” were truly well meant, and the answers kind and welcoming. The people I saw were friends I’d like to see again and again.
I was cheered—for a while.
One—actually two—people asked if I could go to a reunion very soon. A reunion where I’d meet people who barely knew me, because it was that long ago.
I was the last of the engineering apprentices at the place where I spent six-ish years in capable hands that shaped my working life as an apprentice.
These three-monthly sessions have been going on for many years and, obviously, if things carried on in a normal fashion, I’d be there on my own in the end. Everyone else would be gone, I’d be the youngest one, and on my own.
An era coming to a close—an era that signifies a national end to apprenticeships and, by association, an end to trained mechanical engineers.
We had to climb the short ladders of machine shop life to become tutors of the old ways that are now not necessarily useful. It’s a slow, accurate pace that’s not able to be sustained in these days of haste and inaccuracy that’s liked so much. Better to have plenty of rubbish cheaply made than not enough but perfect items.
This outdated way is now gone, along with the farrier and the boiled sweets.
So why should I go? What would that give them—or me?
Will we chat as if we remembered each other? Will we look at each other hard and struggle to see that person from long ago?
Many have already died who would have known me, so why should I bother?
I’ve been asked so I can go shoulder to shoulder with a mate I know well—who knows me well too—but that will still not make me more well remembered to the others.
I’d like to go back to those days and work and laugh with those guys again. But with me being the youngest ever likely to turn up, I don’t expect many to know me.
I’m going around in circles, and these circles are circles of fear and self protection.
I don’t want to be reminded of some things that would not be happy for me to remember.
What should I do?
My mate so wants me to go, but I’m reluctant—and so is he without me.
Perhaps we could go another time, another place, where we will be the owners of the histories that we can stand — or maybe not.
We have a month to decide—a month we will probably not think about it at all.
I guess we’ll go with guilt and sheepishness—we shall see.
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I must move on from the hobbies I can’t sustain now.
The cars and bikes are hardly the best things to keep, especially as my kids have no interest in them. My small bikes and bigger cars are all unnecessary now. My Darling does not want them either, so they might as well go.
Advertising them all is the best way, I suppose, but I’m not sure I’m able to do that.
I’ve never ever sold things I’ve owned.
I usually give them away or throw them out once they’re totally worn out.
So this would be a new feeling entirely.
I’m a buyer, not a seller. I only need the items gone. I need them out of my way.
But both Minis I’ve built from scratch have been lovingly restored over years of hard graft.
At what cost?
I need to think about it. I need the courage to make these decisions in whatever way makes the transition of ownership easier for my Darling.
These are the things I’m toying with right now.
I might as well give away the cars just to make space. What else can I do?
That’s the solution—that’ll get the job done.
I must stop thinking about these pieces of metal as things I’ve put my heart and soul into. It’s just a vehicle that needs a new home.
I’m sad to come to this decision, but I have to do this for practical reasons.
The reunion can’t be all that bad, surely. Maybe I should go, with nervous anticipation.
What could go wrong?
Take care
Good night
