art – Page 29 – Lorin Duckman Today

Jim Thayer Nears His End

Usually, when I walk down Church Street, elation fills my heart when a person who hasn’t been around for a while finds me. Jim is one of the guys whose smile always brightens my day.

During an early winter cold spell, I carried a sleeping bag around for days looking for him. Our schedules sometimes don’t coincide, me being an early morning person, while he sometimes roams until late at night and then sleeps in or out, depending on the weather. Jim said he’d been around, just not at the same time as me. I must have missed his decline.

Last time I shot him and his daughter Amanda was Christmas morning. They were on their way to a meal at Junior’s, an annual food event for street people. Both seemed a little beaten down. She’s away right now. People say she was doing OK for a while. I saw him again in mid-January. He was talking with a cop about something. I gave him a dollar, staring without talking, before moving along. Enough drama. Didn’t know if he was engaged in a social or investigative conversation.

But, on St. Patrick’s day, as he waited for the parade of Ireland Cement Mixers, we chatted. He looked awful. Even the days in the past when he had been carousing and not taking care of himself, he had a sense of life. He had helped people who had fallen or who couldn’t take care of themselves, like Paul O’Toole. Out early, he would pick up litter in City Hall Park. He told jokes and stories. Had a high sense of morals and etiquette. Got pissed if you didn’t greet him and upset if he missed you. Today, he answered the question, “how are you,” with “… not too good. Doctors say I don’t have a chance.” He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, though I asked several times.

He refused my offer to buy him a new coat. “Not going to be needing a new coat where I am going.” Turned down my open offer to do anything which would make him more comfortable or happy. “No need. I have been all the places I needed to go and done all I wanted to do. Just waiting for the end.” Damn. I took a dollar out of my wallet and offered it to him. He refused and then reached into his pocket, took out a silver dollar. “Here Duck. You take this dollar. Its for all the dollars you have given me over the years.” “I don’t need your dollar,” I said. “Then give it to someone who does. When was the last time a homeless person gave you a dollar?’ I took it.

Jack Lavery Doesn’t Vote

Jack Lavery defines himself as the “laziest person in Burlington.” He didn’t vote today, because “those bastards promise to do things and then they never do anything.”

I voted, because if you don’t vote, the right to vote and the importance of voting will disappear. One incumbant ran. Vince. Don’t know him. Have watched him at City Council Meetings. He looks sincere, sounds sincere, and wants the job. I don’t know if his politics are mine, he is a neighborhood guy, so I voted for him. Don’t have kids. Don’t understand the school budget. Dont’ know what the others running for office do or why they want the job. And, while I don’t want the land ripped apart for energy, how a position letter advances my cause helps the issue escaped me. Did I say I voted?

Burlington Fishing Pier Fogged In

Fog stopped the sun, but not the light, from hitting the pier. The moisture filled my nostrels and dampness coated my forehead. Near the water, two people sat and looked for the lighthouse. I came late to the show. It had crept in and was leaving.

Sara and Zaira.

The Moran Building looks better when it cannot be seen so clearly. Who knows what it will become.

I left and came back. The sun returned, too, playing tricks with the water and the mountains. Always about the light. No wind. No birds. No boats. No fishermen. I always feel a little guilty when I stand alone at the end of the pier. The city built this whole pier just for me, so I can look at the world, I tell myself. Ever changing. Ever amazing. But I really want my neighbors to see it too. Lake Champlain belongs to all of us. In the summer, it will all be different.

Burlington Parks and Recreation

Marty makes these snow blocks so the Penguin Plungers can carve snow sculptures. Rain and 50 degree weather caused the previous ones to melt. Climate change affecting art.

The snow comes from piles removed from the street and dumped near the waterfront. Recycling takes many forms in Vt.

Now for the art.

Bob Adams On Cherry Street

Seriously cold, I will tell you. He had jammed his walker up against the wall in front of Macy’s. Got caught in a space in the pavement. Veered left. He put on the breaks and sat down. I approached, watching him applying absent muscle to an effort to stand. He wavered, shivering and almost toppled. I feared he would fall. “You all right? Need some help.” He wispered that his legs hurt. He said he couldn’t hear and could barely see. “I live at Cathedral Square, up there.” “Don’t fall dude. We will make it together.” A woman, not dressed for the day, helped. She told me she just conquered breast cancer. Her son is a 30-something and needs a hip replacement. I had two, but later. She double-teamed the walk across the street and then left. Stopped at the Courthouse for a breather. Always nice to be there when I don’t have a case. Took a while, slowing down to go down hill. And we did make it back to his place. And me to mine.