Andy Dufresne & me

       I thought I would post one more entry before I set out for Panama.

 

       

      Yes, I’m still in Portland for another few days, so you can put the party favors away, cancel the stripper, and put the snack tray back in the fridge.  Go ahead and drink the champagne – you have my blessing.

       Like most people here in America, I have spent a good portion of my life moving merchandise in and out of my perimeter.  I began to wonder: If I were able to see my own life as a timeline, one that reflected merchandise, all the stuff I owned over the years, what would it look like? 

 

In the 60’s it would be slot cars, pajamas, 45’s, Stingray bikes, 007 attache cases, scooters, toy guns, and wrinkled, faded copies of Playboy.

The 70’s would reflect my coming of age. We’d see black light posters, monster make-up, cassettes, bell bottoms, skateboards, guitars, amps, and microphones. Polaroids, turntables, strobe lights, giant speakers, concert tickets, bongs, and Frisbees.

The 80’s would reveal the accumulation of all the things that a successful career can provide.  Wedding rings, baby cribs, nice furniture, computers, recording equipment, mortgages, Toyotas, Thunderbirds, trucks, training wheels, CD’s, antiques, sports equipment, and a jukebox.  And, on and on.

But the truth is, only one point on that line is relevant at all, and that would be today.  And today my burden became a lot lighter.

Today I gave away all the clothes that I am NOT bringing South with me.  I donated at least 15 Hawaiian shirts, dozens of T-shirts, a half a dozen coats, 5 hoodies, 4 sweatshirts, and any clothing that weighed more than a pound or so.  I gave away 6 pairs of shoes (most hardly ever

worn), 2 pairs of hiking boots, baseball hats, straw hats, felt hats, unfelt hats, sweatpants, warm-ups (like I ever did that), Dockers, slacks, and jeans.  I donated a slew of neckties ranging from hip, multi-colored jobs to boring business pastels, a piano tie, a tie with fish on it, and one that you Velcro on.  There are enough empty plastic hangers in my closet now to supply a Best Western. 

       Then I got to thinking (ouch!), if “Clothes define the man”, then I just became more undefined – and the thought of it pleased me greatly.

       Because in the end, that is what my moving to Panama is all about.  Well, it’s about re-defining myself, really.

       Of course, before you draw a new sketch, you need a clean piece of

paper, right?  So I decided to give away all my clothes, and go naked.  Full blown Commando!

       But, then I realized that if I got rid of any more clothes, I would begin to become more defined, instead of less defined.  If you know what I mean.

Besides, if I were to walk around neckid, all of the “rules” “the Man” has put in place to squelch us “free souls”, would probably get me thrown into “jail”, where I would quickly end up as somebody’s “girlfriend” and then have to order a “Rita Hayworth” poster in order to cover up the “tunnel” I was digging in my cell “wall”, and end up crawling through “a mile” of the “the most God-awful, stinking waste” ever “released” from a “human rectum”.  And who needs that?  Really.

        

My point is this;

      

      I wouldn’t even know where to get a Rita Hayworth poster.  No…it was something else.  Oh yeah!

       My point is this;

       We’ve all heard people say things like;

“Getting rid of all my things was so freeing!” or

        

“Letting go of the past made me feel brand new”  or

“Getting a Brazilian wax hurt like hell!”

       All of those acts are about getting rid of things, things that define you.  Or rather; things you’ve allowed to define you.

       It is like wiping with a clean sheet of paper.  Wait.  It’s wiping the slate clean with a piece of paper? Is that right?  Hmm…Oh!  Here it is;

     It is not letting shit get in the way of you being free. 

That’s it! That is my point. 

      Don’t let your shit back up the colon of your life. Push through it, crawl if you have too. And once you get to the end of the tunnel and feel

the clean, cool water on your face, grab a fresh, clean piece of paper and wipe that old shit away!  Redefine what it means to be you! Lose 60 lbs. in 3 days!  I guarantee it!

       Okay, maybe it’s not for everybody.  It is hard to let go of things it has taken years to accumulate, I assure you.  But, as I said before, today is the day that matters, and through this process I realize that the stuff I’ve kept for years, even the expensive things, no longer reflect who I am. Maybe they did when I acquired them, but now they reflect something that is no longer needed – the past.

       I'm traveling light these days.  Two suitcases, a guitar, and a dog named Betty; on our way to a new life.

       So we’ll catch you on the flip side, folks.  We off for Panama!

Holy Shit!  What have I done?!

DP

Pappy Crap

    
       As I count down the days before I make the big move to little Panama, I have two focuses: 

A:) Making sure all the paperwork is in place for getting my dog, Betty, into Panama, and

2:) Finding new homes for my old things 

Financing the trip was easy.  Coming up with the money quickly was simply a matter of breaking into my neighbor's house while they were away camping, stealing the only weapon I could find, and holding up a Plaid Pantry.  I was surprised what kind of fear a slingshot and a child's Darth Vader mask can induce in a slightly stoned clerk.

       Buying tickets on-line was a breeze as well.  Of course, I had limited funds (Cashier Deposits Cash Regularly), so in order to save a few dollars I had to make some concessions.  Did you know there is a cheaper, more uncomfortable way to fly than "Coach"?  It's called "Stowaway", and though it

is a bit cramped (and very cold), you can rummage through other "Paying" passenger's luggage for something warm to wear, and do it at your leisure.  At least until they catch you.

Anyway, there really isn't that much paperwork involved in the exportation and importation of a pet from one country to another.  First, I had my doctor sign a form stating that Betty was my emotional support and critical to my well being.  This allows her to ride on my lap while in the landing gear compartment during the flight. This also

gives us the advantage of being the first to depart the aircraft upon arrival. 

       The problems arise, not from the amount of paperwork, rather the interpretation of the paperwork.  The part written in Spanish was easy to figure out with the help of a simple translator found on line. But, trying to get help figuring out what in heck the Americans want is nearly improbable!  I actually went down to the local USDA office as I was instructed to do on "a website", only to find that nobody knew what I was talking about. Hell, I can get that reaction anywhere.

Finally, after minutes waiting in an empty lobby, a woman with one of those "did you get separated from the group?" smiles, convinced me that I was not as articulate as I had once believed, and gently (out of fear I'm guessing) coerced the correct question out of me. It seems I was asking for the "aphid" representative, instead of the "APHIS" representative.  It turns out that one of them is a bug. Okay "USDA", I'm not an Enternlogisist!

But, the guy from APHIS (Animal and Plant Health Inspection Something) is not there very often and won't be in until Monday, and "would I please call first" before I returned.  I'll admit it here, in front of both of my readers, that I was getting a little peeved.  Why is it my burden to remember to call first? Especially when Monday was  four whole days away?

What is wrong with our system? Is this what our founding fathers had in mind? Black lives matter!  No, All lives are matter!

Anyhow, I forgot to call on Monday.  But to my credit, I forgot to go there as well.  No worries.  I'll try again today - everyone works on "Labor Day", right?  NO?  Well, then why do they call it Labor Day!?  Stupid Rules. 

Still, there is no time for me to sit around steaming about government red tape (if there was I'd never get to Panama), I've got other things to do, like get rid of my stuff. 

I considered having a garage sale to earn enough money for passage in the "cabin" of the airplane, but the thought of pricing, and moving, and haggling, and sitting in a lawn chair at eight in the morning, was too daunting.  So, I decided to take the high road, and give my things away instead.

       Here, I would like to warn future ex-patriots about giving your most valued treasures away.  Nobody wants them.  It is just more crap to add to the ever increasing piles of crap that everyone already has. You know - the perfect lamp you found on the side of the road?  The one that the universe placed right in front of you, when you were walking to the Goodwill to (OMG!) find a lamp?  Yeah, nobody wants it.  They have three of them in storage - each with a special story, and each one destined for the Goodwill.

       I have things I have moved around for years, carefully tossing them in boxes full of other things - precious things - things that even my guilt ridden children don't want.

     So, I thought I'd do the charitable thing; fill my car with "donations" and drop them off at one of the classic Goodwill trailers.

(Think about it)

  When I arrived, no one was there and the trailer was locked up. There were baby swings, and furniture, and boxes of clothes, and computers, and golf clubs, and special lamps, all neatly piled around it, but no one in sight.  I found a torn "I'll be back at" sign leaning against the double trailer doors. Then some

random guy riding a bicycle around the parking lot pulled up.  "He's at lunch", he said, as he made a circle.  On his way back by he said, "He's probably eating over there", pointing toward a pizza place.  

Being the mellow fellow that I wish I were, I decided to spend a few dollars and treat myself to lunch, while I waited to give my things away.  

       Twelve dollars later, I returned to the trailer, just in time to hear the attendant,

explaining loudly to another hapless donator, that "we don't want your junk!"  The poor man slunk back to his Subaru Wagon, embarrassed and ashamed.

       I wanted to run, but I wanted to do my civic duty even more.  As I unlocked the back of my car the attendant walk over shaking his head.

       "People think this is a garbage dump, you know? Like, they can just bring their crap here and we'll haul it to the dump for 'em.  Look at this!"  he said nodding at the items in the parking lot, "Every morning when I get here, there are

piles of crap, just dumped here, crap that I have to pick up and organize.  It's like I am their personal slave who has nothing better to do with my time than pick up their crap!"  I tried to look empathetic.

"Where am I supposed to put all this crap, huh? C'mon!  Thank god I only have to do this crap three days a week!" he said.

I chuckled nervously, wanting to break the tension.

"I bet you won't volunteer for this job next time, huh?"

He looked at me like I had three nostrils.

"Oh, I'm gettin' paid for this.  You bet yer ass, I'm gettin' paid.  Volunteer?  Are you kidding?  Come over here." he said walking away.  I hesitated, closing my tailgate.

"No! come here!  Look at this, the trailer is full.  Where am I supposed to put all this crap?"  

I followed him out of terror.  He was right.  The trailer was as full as it could be, in fact the bags on the end were threatening to tumble off the mountain and crush whom ever was unlucky enough to be around. 

Then he turned, looked at me, then looked at my car.

"Well?" he grunted, Whadda ya got?" 


 I swallowed hard and with a sheepish grin said,  "Do you take lamps?"


My point is this;

One man's treasure is another man's pain in the ass.  Americans have so much crap, that we can't even give things away.  We work all our lives (well, some of you do), in order to accumulate things.  Things which please us one day, and turn to crap the next.  So you put your crap on the sidewalk, where somebody picks it up on the way to the Goodwill.  Of course, it saves you both a trip to the Goodwill, which believe me, is getting more and more frightening. 

I'll be glad to be down in beautiful Panama soon, where at least you find real trash on the sidewalk.  Not this fancy crap.  Crappity Crap Crap.       Crap.

"Thanks for listening" 

DP