Dabblings of a Dilettante

By Gerry Christmas

Dabbling has often distracted and inspired poets, musicians, painters, scientists, and conquerors throughout the ages. Now, dedicated dilettante Gerry Christmas takes a shot at this long ignored but all too common predilection. Abraham Lincoln, Jack London, Jeffery Farnol, Jack Kennedy, Marilyn Monroe, Noam Chomsky, Bobby Fischer, Basset Hounds, MS–13, nursing home inmates, epileptics, Thai students, Asian despots, Buddhist monks, even God are paints for Christmas’s palette. Asked why he finds dabbling so enticing, Christmas did not hesitate. “I haven’t a clue,” he said. “I’ve dabbled away most of my life and have every intention of dabbling away the rest of it.” So there you have it: the allure of dabbling. Enjoy the book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jul 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684706990

Book preview

DABBLINGS

OF A

DILETTANTE

GERRY CHRISTMAS

Copyright © 2019 Gerry Christmas.

The cover is a reproduction of Dilettante (1896) by the Russian painter

Vladimir Makovsky (1846 – 1920).

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

The Girl, the Boy, and the King, The Girl with the Witchy Eyes, and Second to None (originally The Girl Who Came Second) first appeared online with New Asian Writing. Also, The Girl Who Came First appeared in an abbreviated form in Breathing the Same Air: A Peace Corps Romance. To the best of the author’s knowledge, the other pieces have never been published.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0700-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0699-0 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 07/18/2019

Also by Gerry Christmas

Reports of My Death:

Beyond-the-Grave Confessions of North American Writers

(2019)

Breathing the Same Air:

A Peace Corps Romance

(2015)

The Orawan Poems

(2011)

To Jeff

who,

while going eyeball to eyeball

with the Noseless One,

gave me the guts to live.

Can that which has cost the artist days, weeks, months and even years of reflection be understood in a flash by a dilettante?

Robert Schumann

I never thought, I’m going to be an artist. When I actually began to become successful in the art world I made it a point to say, I am a dilettante; I am not a professional artist, which is true.

Yoko Ono

As I lay there thinking, I naturally dwelt upon myself and my situation. It was unparalleled, undreamed-of, that I, Humphrey Van Weyden, a scholar and a dilettante, if you please, in things artistic and literary, should be lying here on a Bering Sea seal-hunting schooner. Cabin-boy! I had never done any hard manual labour, or scullion labour, in my life.

Jack London

Fishing from a boat seems like dilettante bullshit–like hunting wild boar with a can of spray paint from the safety of a pick-up truck.

Hunter S. Thompson

Sir Claude was really rather magnificent in other than American eyes. There was something of the Renascence Prince about his omnivorous culture and restless publicity; he was not only a great amateur, but an ardent one. There was in him none of that antiquarian frivolity that we convey by the word dilettante.

G.K. Chesterton

Disclaimer

Bits and pieces of this book occurred.

Any semblance to reality or real people, however,

is pure happenstance.

DIXIE DABBLING

Mother of Pearl

My name’s Pearl. I live up yonder in the Western Sector ‘twixt Misty and Bald Mountain. Y’all know where that is. Pa, he built us our house there twenty years back. Ma, she helped some but wasn’t much good. She was carrying Luke at the time. I came along four years later. By then Pa had built an indoor privy with a store-bought seat. Luke fell through it one day and had one dickens of a time getting out ‘cause there weren’t no cord to grab onto. I like to kid him about that one.

Pa died three years back and it most grieved us. He sure wasn’t one to break a sweat. As he always said, Never do tomorrow what the gov’ment will give today. It was a good saying and, being the man he was, he lived by it. He’d of lived a mite longer hadn’t he pulled so hard on that bad batch of corn. Mr. Jeeter crost the way said it was foolish of Pa to indulge the way he done. But then again that was Pa. Maybe, that’s how Luke come by his wild ways.

Luke always was wild. I think Mary Jane Labine was the first to find out but after that word spread fast. Gals – all sorts of gals – would stop by reg’lar asking Ma for meal and flour and such. They’d forever be sporting their smartest calicos and their tallest heels. And they’d forever be smiling sweet and speaking soft and gentle-like.

But Ma weren’t dumb. She knowed what was going on. She’d nudge me firm-like and say: When a gal comes in messied, she needs something. When a gal comes in prettied, she needs somebody. That was about the size of it, only difference was them gals knowed who that somebody was.

Personally, I never could figure it. Luke’s not all that great of a feast––at least I never thought so. Sure, he has real rich sandy hair that blends in real good with his hazel eyes, but that’s about all. He don’t have much of a built. I mean, he ain’t no Jim Atkins or even Hank Blake for that matter. Why, when you come down to it, he’s skinny, plum skinny. But I guess them gals never saw him that way. I guess they saw him for all them high-flying times he’d give ‘em. And he did give ‘em high-flying times––if you can believe what Aunt Maggie and Miss Daisy say. Dang high-flying times––at least till Joanna came along.

Joanna was different, real different. She came from the Eastern Sector, ‘twixt Still and Cloud Mountain. We didn’t know none of her kin and she didn’t know none of ourn. A kissin’ cousin brought her over for our Winter Wheat Hoedown. She was a real quiet gal with dark brown hair and black owl-like eyes. She had a good shape but acted standoffish about it. She didn’t seem all that keen about parading it off.

I don’t think Luke would’ve ever laid eyes on her if it hadn’t been for Jake Martin. Jake was ripe on the shine that night. And when Jake’s ripe on the shine, that’s bad news for any filly that fetches his eye. This partic’lar evening the filly happened to be Joanna.

Joanna was standing all by her lonesome in a blackened corner of the barn. The white lightning must’ve made Jake’s eyes phosphorescent or something for he walked right over to her and made his move. Now, Jake’s not a bad sort if you know how to handle him. The only trouble was Joanna didn’t know how. Jake had no sooner put his arm around her waist and his hand up her skirt when she screamed. There was a lot of twisting and turning going on but it stopped. All of it stopped. Jake staggered back, plum perplexed. Then Joanna screamed again. She was shaking and trembling something fierce when Luke run up to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. Her eyes were shut as tight as eggs but they popped wide open as soon as he jostled her. That’s when I think Luke got moonstruck. It was them black owl-like eyes that got him. There weren’t no mistaking it. He dabbed the ends of ‘em with his handkerchief and dried the sides where the tears run down. I don’t know what he said to her but his very first words melted her like a bar of butter on a red-hot skillet. Her whole body loosed up and a smile flickered crost her face. That eased things considerable for the music commenced to play and everything went back to normal––everything, that is, ‘cept Luke who stayed glued to that corner of the barn for the remainder of the evening.

From that night onward Luke acted mighty peculiar. For one thing, he sloughed off all them gals who used to come a-calling and got hisself a night job at Earl Monroe’s garage. At first, I didn’t pay him no mind for I figured he was saving up for an old jalopy or something. But other things begun to happen. He’d always been free with the cussing and such so you can rightfully understand my surprise when he didn’t do it no more. Now, don’t get me wrong. He didn’t stop all at once. It was a slow, gradual affair, much like sap dripping from a tree ‘fore winter sets in. But he did stop and it plum dazzled me. Why, for a time there, I thought he’d come down with a mean case of the miseries. Looking back, I wish he had.

Things got worse and worse. Luke went from strange to stranger. On Sundays he duded himself up and left for the day. This was real queer since he weren’t much for preaching. I hadn’t seen hide or hair of Joanna all this time and Luke, being the stud he was, gave me no cause to link her to his peculiar goings-on.

One day though my curiosity got to pestering me something awful so I decided to follow Luke rather than attend church myself. I got as far as E.M.’s Garage ‘fore I lost him. I was going real good till then. I’d crost the creek that separates the Carter’s and the Crandle’s, passed ‘neath the large oak this side of the Wilkerson’s, and snaked my way through the huge azalea patch below the Simpson’s, ‘fore he got away. If it hadn’t been for Claude Spink, there’s no telling how far I would’ve tailed him. It was Claude who picked him up all right. No mistaken it. There ain’t another fella in these parts who sports a purple cowboy hat and tools around in a metallic-orange Chevy.

From what I could gather they drove east, probably fixing to hook up with the main drag down the hollow. I stood there for a spell, fuming. I was about ready to leave when I spies Earl messing around gopher-like in the back. Now, this surprises me for Earl’s about as god-fearing as they come and I expect him in church, not fooling with a bunch of beat-up old tires the way he was.

Earl’s what you might call soft on me. Real soft. His woman Sara thinks he’s true to her but he ain’t. I know better. I reckon I should, seeing the way I’ve knowed him all my life. Why, when I was a kid he used to come by reg’lar and go coon hunting with Pa. But he never paid me no mind. Not till I come of age and assumed my womanly ways, that is. Then he plum stood up in more ways than one. He’d root me out at dances and wingdings and such. And ‘fore I knowed it he had me in dark corners, a-squeezing me like I was some kind of fruit.

But that weren’t all or nearly all. You see, he craved me something fierce. My, there was times when the hungries set to him so bad that I thought he’d gobble me up. Whenever that happened I was obliged to calm him down a mite. And let me tell you that weren’t no easy chore. One night I couldn’t quite manage it and he got about as good a piece of loving as any man ever got behind Will Harper’s silo. But that’s personal stock and I would be nothing but a leaky faucet if I run on about it. I just mention it so you’ll understand how things are ‘twixt me and Earl and so you’ll see how easy I come by the information concerning Luke the way I done.

Earl was mighty cooperative. I’ve got to say that. Why, as soon as he saw me, he laid them tires to rest and told me what I most wanted to hear. He allowed he didn’t rightly know what Luke was up to, ‘cept he was dang sure a gal was involved somehow. Of that, he could swear. Luke had told him as much the night they took them plugs from Hank Green’s machine. But that was all he told him. When Earl pressed for her label, Luke got the jumps and the jitters. Said he’d rather not say. This made Earl real curious. Well, he said, "if you can’t tell me who she is, won’t you tell me how she is?" Luke gave him a freezed-to eye and told him to go and dig himself a crapper. Earl picked up the meaning of that plain enough. He knew Luke never was one you could snake too easy.

I thanked Earl and hightailed it for home. I was all befuddled. Somehow none of it made sense. For one thing Luke ain’t what you might call modest about his loving, specially with friends the likes of Earl. Sure, he takes it real serious but it’d be nothing but gas if I said he keeps his shenanigans confidential. He likes to run on about the good ones as well as the bad ones. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to be critical about my own flesh and blood but sometimes it seems Luke gets nearly as much delight talking about the feast as he does about eating it.

And then there was Ma. That’s what makes it doubly baffling. There ain’t nothing Luke’s ever held from her, ‘cept maybe the time him and D.C. Duncan stole them hats from Harry Fletcher. They needed ‘em for Pa’s funeral and I must admit they looked dang sharp in ‘em, ‘spite the fact that D.C.’s had a sizeable hole and Luke’s was a good two inches on the fat side. D.C. hid the hole real good by taping a black patch over it. Luke tried to shrink his by washing and drying it several times. But when that didn’t work he was forced to let it sit flat on the nape so as not to allow the front part to slip down over the forehead and thereby obstruct the view of Pa in repose. I must say it didn’t look all that natural but it did give that extra bit or reverence so needed during solemn times.

And yet Ma even found out about them hats eventually. She didn’t get the gist firsthand, mind you, but she found out. If I recall rightly, Lucinda Potter was the one who spilt the peas. But if it hadn’t been Lucinda, it would’ve been someone else. Word has a way of drifting into Ma, be it good or bad. Most times she doesn’t even have to stir from her rocker to get wind of it. She just squats there with that perpetual ball of yarn in her lap, clicking her needles together, not saying a word. Sooner or later in struts someone bearing the news she most wants to hear. Usually, it’s runny ones like Aunt Maggie and Miss Daisy but sometimes it’s freezed-to ones like Uncle Clarence and Silas Jenkins. The whole thing is mighty peculiar and yet Ma takes it as a matter of course. For a spell she sits there as silent as a snake ‘fore she says anything. And then, like one of them old Greek whoracles, she conjures up a revelation––provided a revelation’s in order. More often than not, it is. And more often than not, Ma’s right. I guess that’s why she’s so renowned in the sector and I guess that’s why so many folks stop by to tell of their troubles and to tell of their doings.

It all works out real good. Ma gets news; they get Ma. In the city, I hear tell there’re folks who charge and get fancy fees for doing what Ma does for nothing. I don’t rightly hold with such truck. I can see getting money for seeding and planting and all. That’s hard and deserving work. What I can’t see is getting money for jawing. That’s downright silly. Why sometimes I think them city-dwellers is about as dense as the air they breathe.

But enough of that truck. I best stop playing with the needle ‘fore I lose hold of the yarn. As I said a space back, I hightailed it for home. With someone the likes of Ma a-sitting there, it would’ve been dang foolish of me to fuss about burning brainpower. I thought Ma could put it straight. And, sure enough, I was right.

Scooting through the backdoor, I spied Ma in the kitchen a-trussing one of Jim Henry’s chickens for the evening meal. Ma made the knots quickly and evenly, slightly jerking each one tight and secure. I was tickled to see her working on the bird the way she was since it told me she was in a good mood. Had she been in a bad mood, had she been riled, she’d of yanked that bird together with more authority than a sheriff. Think I’m exaggerating? Well, a trifle.

Anyway, I saw my opening and shot right in. I put it to her about Luke’s doings and such. Ma gave me one of her patented pancake grins and chucked the bird into the sink. She looked most pleased. I think for the first time she saw some of her renowned investigating blood in me, and it set real fine with her. She sat me down on one of the red kitchen stools, ‘fore she straddled one herself. Her grey eyes looked eager, too eager. They had that wild glint of anticipation about them, much like that of a treed coon about to be torn apart by hound dogs. And yet she smiled. It was like she knowed trouble was a-brewing but she had no hankering for it to stick.

I was downright surprised Ma’d heard tell of Joanna. Luke, to my knowledge, hadn’t leaked a word. But, then again, Ma had her ways. Though never having laid eyes on Joanna, she’d come by some whisperings that made her itch with worry. Not that Joanna weren’t good. All reports said she was.

Joanna sounds a mite uppity for the likes of Luke, Ma said. With him being a wild root, I figure he needs softer soil in which to spread his seed.

That made me laugh. Why, I told her, she sounded as if Luke was about to tie the knot. Ma didn’t laugh back. That night, around eight, Luke came back all in a sweat. Deep in the daisies atop Bald Mountain, Joanna had agreed to be his wife.

Luke and Joanna were married a month later by Reverend Parker. Naturally, Ma cut some trees over it but she kept it clear of Luke. When I asked her why, she said it weren’t worth agitating the stomach juices over. To her mind, a man in love is as senseless as sand and as hot as a horny toad. And, if Luke is typical, I can see what she means. Never, in all my born days, have I ever seen anyone carry on the way he done. Why, for a good two weeks ‘fore the wedding, he moped about the house with no more juice than a blue tick hound on a hot summer’s day. Wherever he went, his head drooped, his shoulders sagged, his feet dragged. I’d ask him something – anything to roust him up – but it wasn’t no good. He’d just sit and stare goggle-like, his eyes all glossed over and his mouth mumbling truck the ears never did fetch.

Luke weren’t too bad at the wedding, though. Me and Ma were plenty scared for fear he’d shame us. But he didn’t. He stood up there, in Pa’s own suit, as brave and as tall as a man about to catch a bullet ‘twixt his teeth. Only difference was he had no idea of the danger.

How could he? Why, when Joanna commenced to glide down that aisle, she looked as sweet as a swan––and dang near as pretty. She was all decked out in one of them tight-laced gowns that hides what a gal can’t show but shows what a gal can’t hide. It was one of them noble affairs, full of pulls and stays for taking in the gut and letting out the glory.

And, for sure, Joanna had more glory than gut. One look told me that much. Why she’d enough curves to make a pretzel look straight. She belonged to that fortunate few, as Ma likes to put it, who could make most any man hot-to-trot.

Joanna floated down the aisle all graceful and serene. Still, you could tell she weren’t used to parading her wares, even with all them hungry eyes a-feasting on her. She held her head a mite lower than the occasion demanded, almost as if she was ashamed of the gifts the good Lord had seen fit to bestow upon her. Her bouquet trembled in her hands and her bosom heaved short and fast. She reminded me of a hummingbird fluttering in the breeze.

After being joined good and proper, Luke and Joanna left on their honeymoon. They kept it hushed as to where they was going for Luke feared something would befall them like it did so many of our kin. You see, our kinfolk tend to lean heavy on the pranks and such, specially when it comes to honeymoons.

Lots and lots of them have been pulled. One that comes to mind happened to Uncle Eli and Aunt Emma. They had the nuts and bolts removed from their bed, which proved disastrous. The whole shebang gave way just as Eli was making his historic thrust for the Promised Land. Emma was so shook up it took Eli a good two hours to get her engine humming again.

But undoubtedly the looniest one happened to Uncle Julian and Aunt Nancy. Julian’s not what you’d call our brightest bulb but I’m afraid his brother Uncle Sid is. Sid can con Julian into most anything since not only is Julian on the dim side but he’s trustful as well. This had always made him easy pickings for Sid, but never so easy as when Julian went to get hitched. Sid set to him a mite unkindly to my way of thinking. Sid told Julian that if he wanted to score high with his spanking new bride, he’d better use some Tru-Blu Love Lotion. Julian said he never heard tell of it. Sid proceeded to fill him in on the partic’lars.

Tru-Blu, he said, is the latest breakthrough in modern medicine. Once rubbed into the love shaft, it guarantees rigidity for at least an hour or double your money back. After that reg’lar lubrication, depending on use and abuse, will see to it that the missus never goes hungry.

The news of this stuff tickled Julian half to death and he asked Sid where he could buy some. Sid said he’s let him borrow his, provided he’d give it back as soon as the honeymoon was over. What Sid didn’t say was that the lotion weren’t nothing but a lot of blue dye mixed with ordinary hand lotion. When Julian lubricated hisself, his poor pecker was dyed so bad that Nancy wouldn’t let him lay a finger on her for three days.

That was enough for Luke. He weren’t worried about being conned or nothing. He was