(the conclusion)
Crumbs of Wisdom
“Stop saying I know what you mean! No one does!”
When the urge became too strong to procrastinate longer I tried ...”
“Procras . . . you just don’t get it Mister, I’m outta here!“ The boy finally had good reason to excuse himself and he quickly rode off under the noon day sun.
The man sighed, but he knew he still had his pigeons and he knew he had what it took to keep their attention. He reached in his pocket for another hand full of bait as he continued, “My selection process became somewhat predictable. My natural instincts and curiosity were triggered hypnotically by the curved shapes of the various bottles and more so influenced by the dark browns, as the pale blonds seem to turn me off and the greens seemed so unnatural. Eventually I narrowed the choices to 3 – a ‘Bud-dy Buddy’ type, one with an older style and one that proclaimed its home was in a land of sky blue waters. Ummm . . . um.”
He looked around. It seemed the human element was now missing since the boy wheeled off. He muttered to himself, “Where should I go from here?” He reached down and picked up one of those pretty little birds and hand fed her his final thoughts, “There were three beauties staring me in the face and each had its own formula that made it uniquely enticing. My further filtration process continued on a predictable path as my focus turned to their cans, after all this was their very best form of advertising. It soon became clear to me, it just didn’t feel right staring at the cans of a buddy . . .” He looked right in the eyes of that little bird and proclaimed, “I know you know what I mean.”
He set her down and she immediately flew off. He shook his head, “Et tu little one?”
He tried to leave the remaining fowl with a positive spin on the can reference”, “My natural conscience surely did help me narrow my choices to two. I was now torn between the naturally outdoorsy one, and the slightly older, seeming more experienced one.”
He brushed the remaining crumbs from his hands as he reminded himself, “It was them who ultimately helped me decide, as they opened themselves up and poured all their emotions in a glass for me to see. I was definitely lured in closer and their aromas were something I had never experienced before. I just couldn’t help but slip in my tongue for a taste . . . ummm!” One final grin crossed his face as the remaining birds flew the coop, “I still can remember that day like it was yesterday, cuddled up there on the beach with the blazing hot sun beating down on her beautiful brown . . . bottle and . . . what was I talking about again? Oh yeah . . . my very first beer.”
Let me just say one final thing about Mr. Drooling and his bread crumb words of wisdom; we all know what he was talking about here, and we all know all too well, that no matter which one it was he decided on, eventually he had too much of her and I’m sure he was still sick about it in the morning. You see, it didn’t really matter the decision he made, as whichever one he chose to be his first, it was indeed his favorite by definition, and it remained that way until which time he got up the nerve to try another. None of us pigeons should feel sorry about this dehumanizing scrutinization of beer, as it can be safely assumed that beer has no feelings, but even if we’re wrong there will always be a new batch of curious neophytes checking out their cans and giving them a proper rating on a scale from one to ten.
When an old man sits in the park all day feeding the pigeons he soon longs for some human interaction.
He feeds bread crumbs to the pigeons and offers up his words of wisdom to anyone who cares to listen.
From these details comes the title of this short piece
"Crumbs of Wisdom".
And too the title of the entire book
"Pocket Crumbs and Pigeon Feathers"
(part 3)
Crumbs of Wisdom
Realizing this was no time to hesitate, the man responded “You don’t know this yet, but there is a distinction between ordering from a sophisticated, linen table-clothed establishment, a full-bodied brew which contains the world’s finest ingredients, aged properly in a temperature controlled environment and served over a bucket of ice . . .” The boy’s foot was on the pedal now, so the man sped up his delivery, “ . . . versus conning a strange adult into illegally purchasing a watered-down virgin (version) at a convenience store, so that you can establish your credibility hiding in an alley behind the local drug store, with your chosen product hidden discretely inside a wrinkled-up brown paper bag. Too soon you’ll realize important decisions are pending here, and there is simply too much information all at once. You know what I mean.”
The boy looked down at his shoes, perhaps sheepishly ashamed to admit, “You think I know, but I don’t!” The boy has the urge to leave and try as he might, “I have to go now. I think my momma’s calling me.”
The man continues, “Your mind thinks big at first. Like all the great pioneers before you, you wonder should I venture out beyond my national boundaries and select a Canadian, a German or perhaps even an Irish stout. After due consideration, you reject this notion knowing full well that a man like Magellan died before he completed his mission to discover the world. I, for one, was not interested in a fatal result such as this. One more personal note about foreign choices before I move on . . . I truly believe I was inbred with a prejudice against the Latin and Mexican types which surely did tarnish my expectations of their potential. I have since outgrown this mental disability, but now I’ve wandered outside the intent of this discussion, that of my very first experience with . . . ah, I promised I wouldn’t mention it again.”
The boy’s bike was circling the man now, looking for an exit ramp, “Mister, your words are too big and too confusing.” The pigeons were moving in closer to get a better listen.
The man tried again to keep his audience captured, “You’ll see, I can shift to a lower gear. I remember thinking, ‘Should I just grab the first one that calls my name and get this gall darn thing over with?’ At least then I’d have lost that unadulterated handle that was so unjustly attached to me.”
“Here you go again, with those big words; besides I promised I’d play with my sister.”
The man held up his hand and nodded an understanding nod as his flow continued, “Maybe I should I restrict myself to the convenience of a local gal, a locally brewed beverage that is?” I remember turning my attention to the names hoping one would jump out and rescue me, but “a little girl from St. Paul” didn’t interest me any more than the likes of ‘Lowen. . .’, ah, that name is too long for you.” The man just smiled, as it seemed he was the only one understanding his insights, but he continued anyway in his usual manner, “To complicate even more I was confronted with acronyms; PBR, MGD and these were no more useful for me than my own initials. Just what can you gleam from a name like I.M. Drooling, you know what I mean?”
(part 1) Ivan Michael Drooling's
Crumbs of Wisdom
There was an old man sitting on a park bench feeding pieces of bread crumbs to all the local pigeons, and sharing pieces of wisdom with any of the local impressionables that came within earshot. As it happened, a young man no more than a baker’s dozen in years rode up on his rusty old two-wheeler. It was as if this young lad was catching this elder statesman in the midst of some kind of admission.
“I, Ivan Michael Drooling, being of sound mind have finally reached a point where I’m willing to dust off and discuss the emotions associated with my very first crush . . .” The man looked over at the boy who was rolling his eyes and about to roll on past. The senior quickly adjusted his tone and expanded his subject matter a bit, “which may actually include details of my very first kiss . . .” The boy hesitated slightly before continuing on his way, so the man raised his voice as he changed his lure and threw out another line, “I . . . I mean a first beer experience, including all the things a youngster needs to know.”
The boy turned his bars and his interest level made a complete 180 turn as well, “Which is it, Mister? What are you jibber-jabbering about today?”
The old Drooling geezer seemed to ignore the last query as he turned his attention back to the pigeons like they were his masses, “Yep, that’s right! I’m ready to pop the top on a topic that’s rarely discussed in an intellectual way but I want this to be a down and dirty ‘We are all animals and we all have instinctive urges . . .’diatribe”. The boy had time on his hands and nowhere in particular to be, and it seemed this down ‘n dirty talk just might be right up his alley. He immediately crashed his bike to the ground, sat down and temporarily offered up his oh-so temperamental focus to the man.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. Drooling could see his one-man audience was ready and in place, “Let me begin. First, the very definition of the word ‘first’ in this particular context seems to indicate that you can’t adequately prepare yourself for a monumental occurrence such as this, the selection of and subsequent consumption of a very first beer.” The man closed his eyes to concentrate; it was as if his message was vital and he didn’t want to lose them (him). He continued almost apologetically, “I hope this is the last time I’ll have to remind myself just exactly what it is I’m referring to.” He shook his head, “Please, let me start again.”
At this same time, the boy was picking dandelions and running his hands through the dirt as he hummed an idiot song to himself, one he’d heard before on the radio. The man raised his volume again, this time to drown out the rude little interruption “You simply can’t prepare for it and you can’t discuss it with anyone as it most assuredly would expose your oh-so-obvious ignorance and your rather embarrassing ‘I’ve never done this before’ state, related to this anticipated consumption.”
(part 2)
Crumbs of Wisdom
At this same time, the boy was picking dandelions and running his hands through the dirt as he hummed an idiot song to himself, one he’d heard before on the radio. The man raised his volume again, this time to drown out the rude little interruption “You simply can’t prepare for it and you can’t discuss it with anyone as it most assuredly would expose your oh-so-obvious ignorance and your rather embarrassing ‘I’ve never done this before’ state, related to this anticipated consumption.”
The boy’s mind quickly moved elsewhere as he tried to stand, but Mr. Drooling reached out and gently pushed his shoulder back down, “Unfortunately for you, your youthfulness and immaturity are forced to make this choice solo, without benefit of having any historical experiences in your toolbox. Just where do you go on your own to learn about the importance of something like kräusening in beers?”
The boy’s eyes had a new glazed look and the man had two fingers pointing directly at them, “Yes, you heard me right, kräusening! If you could see it now, it’s a word that has two little eyes staring at you, causing you to lose your focus the same as when you’re confronted with images of those Kardashian sisters.”
The boy had a befuddled and indignant demeanor, “Krausen . . . Kardash . . . Are you kidding me?”
The man laughed a little before he made his next crucial point, “Maybe you don’t need me to tell you, maybe you need an educated doctor type consultant, a “Kervokian” if you will, to avoid an ever so fatal misconception.
The boy and his bike got to their feet as it seemed the proper time, but the man just continued, “Naturally, more and more questions like these attack your head and your uneducated guesses will ultimately influence and formulate your decision. Where, oh where, do you go to find a proper one, one you are willing to stake your reputation to?”
“Reputation?”