Blog Dis
Tinny Peete and the fluffy snowflakes
2024-12-05
I looked for joy this morning as I walked into work, watching more bloody snow fall from the dull and dreary sky. I looked for joy under my bed and over the hill and around the corner but no joy appeared to me at the outset. Sometimes I truly believe that joy is the shy groundhog that comes out one morning, sees its shadow and runs back into its hole to hide until Spring arrives.
Then I came across Tinny Peete - my comrade, my wayward photographer, my soothsayer and ball busting socialist, amiably strolling with his wired black dog name Wily, bouncing madly happily in the snow, delighted that even more flakes were falling. I saw Tinny first because I heard the distinctive click of his camera, taking pictures of green ghosts somehow managing to remain visible under the thin layer of new flakes of snow on the side of telephone poles. Tinny stopped and pulled on the leash, ordering Wily to take it easy (the dog was clearly gaga over the snow). I hoped Tinny and I could exchange a few words and maybe swap some ideas. Now, let me assure you in the wee hours of the early morning I'm known to walk with a coma-like smile with my head still entrenched up my a** because I'm not meant to be a morning person, as the mid-point of December will soon arrive. I become more of a morning lassie when Spring begins to bloom and the chickadees are vying for attention, chirping their bloody beaks off. But I stopped, as I said earlier, and wrapped my arms around Tinny, offering a warm hug and a smile.
"Hey, silly goose," greeted Tinny, "Ya see them chirpy chickadees in the bush?"
"Sure did," I answered, "I heard them, me and every moose in Canada heard them excited chickadees... lovely creatures. They're my favourite birds." But my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't help noticing Tinny was wearing a purple vest with yellow dandelions pinned to the hem and bright green galoshes with sparkling red laces that had clear green fluorescent tips. What is the man up to now, I thought to myself. That man dresses like the feast of Saint Theresa, before the bulls come charging down the cobblestones streets. He was a burst of colour for my eyes.
"What'cha been up to?" I boldly asked of Tinny.
Wily didn't move. He just stood there on four paws and looked up to this owner, waiting for the answer that I too waited for, not on pins and needles, but on freshly fallen flakes as big as the sky-scrapers in the city. I couldn't wait to hear the latest trials and tribulations of the world of Tinny and his misadventures.
"Feeding chickadees," he said with authority. "There's a secret place where wild black turkeys congregate in the prickly underbrush and no one knows about this place... so occasionally I allow myself the pleasure of dropping my drawers in the great outdoors to bring peace to a cold rock and I get to cool my bunions."
Honestly. Most of the time I have no idea what to expect from Tinny. I only knew that if I was to find joy on this snowy Thursday morning I'd have to consult a wise seer like Tinny and hopefully he'd be able to point me in the right direction. I bent lower to pet Wily on the head, who sniffed my crotch. I have my period, you see, and this more than likely meant to Wily that I was a bitch in heat. I waited patiently for Tinny to finish before I posed my all-important question.
"You always seem to know where to find joy," I said to Tinny. "I can't find it this morning," I confessed. "And I really need to find the joy in this day today, my friend. Pulling your spirits together in winter, during the work week, often feels like an uphill battle. Where do I suggest I look for some joy?"
The drone of the cars whizzing by had stopped. The sounds of breaks screeching could not be heard. The noise of people slushing on the wet streets no longer made a tick of sound. Tinny silently stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of crushed seeds. He gently grabbed my hand to open my palm, pouring all the seeds that slipped between my fingers. It was poetic to listen to the seeds fall on the snow. Some even managed to stay in my palm.
"Go woman!" He said. "Go down the road, under that bridge, past the Casino, over the underpass, crawl underneath and pick your seat and just sit. Don't talk or breathe or swallow. If you're lucky, soon enough a can of spray paint will come along and imagination will reveal itself to you."
"What are the seeds for?" I asked stupidly.
"For the birds, you silly goose."
I looked away for just a moment and my eye followed the trail that had been laid out for me with the long finger of Tinny, pointing toward the North horizon. When I looked back Tinny and Wily were gone. Just two foot prints and four paw prints had remained as the snow continued to fall, filling the space they had left behind. I walked farther head, on my way to work, and as I passed the next set of street lights, I saw one bright yellow dandelion pinned to a sign with a freshly written note, the kind of note only Tinny would think to leave. I wanted to believe that the note was meant for me. At this very moment of writing this post, Tinny's words are still with me. How could I forget them?
Extreme gladness causes more joy
Until we cross ways again, Tinny Peete.
Then I came across Tinny Peete - my comrade, my wayward photographer, my soothsayer and ball busting socialist, amiably strolling with his wired black dog name Wily, bouncing madly happily in the snow, delighted that even more flakes were falling. I saw Tinny first because I heard the distinctive click of his camera, taking pictures of green ghosts somehow managing to remain visible under the thin layer of new flakes of snow on the side of telephone poles. Tinny stopped and pulled on the leash, ordering Wily to take it easy (the dog was clearly gaga over the snow). I hoped Tinny and I could exchange a few words and maybe swap some ideas. Now, let me assure you in the wee hours of the early morning I'm known to walk with a coma-like smile with my head still entrenched up my a** because I'm not meant to be a morning person, as the mid-point of December will soon arrive. I become more of a morning lassie when Spring begins to bloom and the chickadees are vying for attention, chirping their bloody beaks off. But I stopped, as I said earlier, and wrapped my arms around Tinny, offering a warm hug and a smile.
"Hey, silly goose," greeted Tinny, "Ya see them chirpy chickadees in the bush?"
"Sure did," I answered, "I heard them, me and every moose in Canada heard them excited chickadees... lovely creatures. They're my favourite birds." But my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't help noticing Tinny was wearing a purple vest with yellow dandelions pinned to the hem and bright green galoshes with sparkling red laces that had clear green fluorescent tips. What is the man up to now, I thought to myself. That man dresses like the feast of Saint Theresa, before the bulls come charging down the cobblestones streets. He was a burst of colour for my eyes.
"What'cha been up to?" I boldly asked of Tinny.
Wily didn't move. He just stood there on four paws and looked up to this owner, waiting for the answer that I too waited for, not on pins and needles, but on freshly fallen flakes as big as the sky-scrapers in the city. I couldn't wait to hear the latest trials and tribulations of the world of Tinny and his misadventures.
"Feeding chickadees," he said with authority. "There's a secret place where wild black turkeys congregate in the prickly underbrush and no one knows about this place... so occasionally I allow myself the pleasure of dropping my drawers in the great outdoors to bring peace to a cold rock and I get to cool my bunions."
Honestly. Most of the time I have no idea what to expect from Tinny. I only knew that if I was to find joy on this snowy Thursday morning I'd have to consult a wise seer like Tinny and hopefully he'd be able to point me in the right direction. I bent lower to pet Wily on the head, who sniffed my crotch. I have my period, you see, and this more than likely meant to Wily that I was a bitch in heat. I waited patiently for Tinny to finish before I posed my all-important question.
"You always seem to know where to find joy," I said to Tinny. "I can't find it this morning," I confessed. "And I really need to find the joy in this day today, my friend. Pulling your spirits together in winter, during the work week, often feels like an uphill battle. Where do I suggest I look for some joy?"
The drone of the cars whizzing by had stopped. The sounds of breaks screeching could not be heard. The noise of people slushing on the wet streets no longer made a tick of sound. Tinny silently stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of crushed seeds. He gently grabbed my hand to open my palm, pouring all the seeds that slipped between my fingers. It was poetic to listen to the seeds fall on the snow. Some even managed to stay in my palm.
"Go woman!" He said. "Go down the road, under that bridge, past the Casino, over the underpass, crawl underneath and pick your seat and just sit. Don't talk or breathe or swallow. If you're lucky, soon enough a can of spray paint will come along and imagination will reveal itself to you."
"What are the seeds for?" I asked stupidly.
"For the birds, you silly goose."
I looked away for just a moment and my eye followed the trail that had been laid out for me with the long finger of Tinny, pointing toward the North horizon. When I looked back Tinny and Wily were gone. Just two foot prints and four paw prints had remained as the snow continued to fall, filling the space they had left behind. I walked farther head, on my way to work, and as I passed the next set of street lights, I saw one bright yellow dandelion pinned to a sign with a freshly written note, the kind of note only Tinny would think to leave. I wanted to believe that the note was meant for me. At this very moment of writing this post, Tinny's words are still with me. How could I forget them?
Extreme gladness causes more joy
Until we cross ways again, Tinny Peete.
