SUBJECTS:
The former Paul’s Restaurant
Irv Beeman's Barber Shop
Sleeping on the floor upstairs
The honorable Lee folding camp table
Reflections in a diving bell
^.^
MISCELLANY AFTER A LULL:
We stopped for breakfast at the former Paul’s Restaurant the other day
In downtown Waukesha.
Every time I go in there I hark to the early 1950s
When I, in the employ of my stepfather, sanded
And sanded
And s-a-n-d-e-d
The old wooden floors in that building
When it was the Metropolitan Dime Store.
I wore a breathing mask
And used a huge electric sanding machine,
Up and down, up and down
Many times.
For days I sanded those floors,
For it was a big store with doors opening on both
Main Street and Broadway
So that now when I go in there I automatically
- Still -
Become covered in sawdust.
The view out the window at the former Paul's
Includes what was once Irv Beeman’s barber shop
- Having been through many incarnations,
Presently another storefront for rent -
Where I got my hair cut as a youth by a young barber, Butch Marino
Still in business in his 80's now in the RR car by the old train depot.
Ah, Beeman's was a mystifying and glorious place
Where brave men got their shaves, first by having their faces covered
In hot towels to soften the bristles;
Next, the soap got whipped up into a lather, round and round, with
Shaving brushes in out-sized mugs
Containing a cake of special, scented round soap at the bottom.
Leather stropped straight razors
Back and forth, back and forth,
Got put to chatting, joking, trusting customers’ faces
(Oblivious to the potential death at their throats)
By banks of tidily clad white-coated surgically-careful
Operators,
Scraping and scraping
(sanding and sanding);
And shoe-shine boys went back and forth
at their raised chairs
With their brushes and snapping polishing clothes........
Back and forth
A long time, until they could
See themselves in their customers' shoes
And rightfully extend their palms for a quarter;
Done.
^.^
The weather has turned hot lately.
Last night we slept on the floor
In our old bedroom upstairs
Where there is air conditioning.
The bed got moved downstairs
While I was under the weather,
Other weather,
And hasn’t gone back up.
Too convenient down here now.
Lying on the 2 yoga futons (two for some thickness)
This morning in the early light I studied the architecture
From that lower angle
Of the mythic Lee folding camp table,
And once again appreciated my temporary custody
Of such a marvel of take-down ingenuity.
Before my time,
In the days of runningboard-lashed camping gear
That table went many places,
Touching and briefly-uniting much foreign turf,
Supported many temporary but unforgotten enterprises
Near campfires, stacked firewood and water jugs;
I've seen it support searching raccoons' weight
And in fact, like a Sampsonite suitcase
A man could stand on its sanded, varnished surface.
By triangulation, it is 'magical'.
Bridges are built like that.
^.^
Early
This morning as we moved downstairs
The temperature outside in the pines was 70 degrees.
Reflecting, I made some coffee in the T. Mahoney diving bell
Reflective chrome maker.
Electrically gurgling til done.
Up and down, up and down.
The repetitious perking does the job
Eventually,
Like sanding dime store floors,
Or shining shoes,
Or shaving men's faces.
the former Metropitan Five and Dimeand former Paul's Restaurant
sleeping upstairs on futonswith camping table
view of table from the floor
gurgling, reflecting
A single rose blooms every year on the east side of the house, where the city forestry department replaced some old and decayed trees several years ago. The new ones have now grown tall and shade everything on that side of the house, but this old indominate rose plant still musters enough energy to put forth a single bloom, every year. Here is this year's. The LVD II P6ooo brings it up close and shows tonal range well.
