Fallen angel  (from a stonemasons journal)

The call was urgent ; a recent twister had torn; and uplifted a one ton
marble angel from its 10 foot base; and could I come meet with them at my
earliest convenience.

According to the voice on the machine
,Its fall had broken it in half and had destroyed most of the wings burying
the face into the mud.
Not a pretty picture I thought.

By  Saturday I was ready to go but  I had Mary (aka Peanut) my 3 yr  to watch
for the morning while Mom ran errands and took the obligatory  fix at the
local  beauty parlor.

Now the inner mysteries of the beauty parlor are about  as complex as the
Akashic   record in so much as the transformations that take place there are
and can be earth shattering let alone spellbinding.

In the lexicon of the North you go to the beauty salon to get your :hair
done";
as in "She just got her  hair done; and its just fabulous"

In the South however you get "your hair fixed".....suggesting something is
broken ....However never; I repeat never suggest to her  that something is
broken; ...Or ...Something... may be broken  should you continue and make an
issue of it ;

What is meant of course; if you are astute and can read  the tea leaves of
southern ebononics;  is something more to the meaning  of
 "Im fixing to  leave " or " Im fixing to do that";
 hence ;
"Im fixing to get my hair fixed" ( coffered) and leave it at that.
 question the outcome  and either way;
 Your fixed...or done.

Mary and I wave bye bye to mommy and clamber into  the old pick up letting
the dog ride shot gun with her head out the window as we head the back  roads
for the  fallen angel.

We are in the deep South and we have an early spring upon us ;
 The cool moist morning air of dew  laden fields  warms magically  in the
rise of the  sun. We roll our windows down and let the pine scented forests
indulge our  senses  in waifs of fresh air perfumed by blooms of Dogwood ,and
Red Bud
whose colors appear vibrant in the rolling hills.

Mary has come prepared; she has brought her "hospital dolly" and a box of
Scoobie Doo band aids  to which she call "bang -naids".
Never mind
She is on a roll; wearing a tiny Hells kitchen NYC tee shirt; she bounces the
truck seat barefoot  back and forth playfully  slamming the dog  while
changing  the radio stations.
Our selection for this mornings ride  wavers  between gospel to rap then to a
 hillbilly  evangelical hour ; a black preacher from the Delta; who keeps
shouting about ol "Sad-Dam and da debil.".

This preacher station  piques her curiosity like she just got hold of
transmissions  from outer space and Im too busy driving Miss Daisy to do
anythig about it .

The good reverend  sounds like he is on an old box mike  in one of the old
hardwood ,hardback  tabernacle churches that dot the endless cotton  fields
of the Delta.

He crackles In the rising tempo of AM radio and  preaches the  ruination of
the UN  and why did we need their sorry corrupt and villainous approval to
liberate the Holy lands  .He then throws me a curve ball
Raising his voice I expected him to quote scripture; but instead shouts

"Badges? ...Badges?... We don't need no stinking badges" (Gold hat to
Humphrey Bogart; Treasure of Sierra Madre)

Im impressed; the man watches old movies and who knows ?
perhaps the administration  speech writers will use this on Mondays  UN
showdown

Sadly and predictably he then moved on to  the bible in Revelations where the
Jews will be gathered in one place ; and the rapture will come. ......

Rap Rap Rap goes mary on the dash....Time to go
 if its a choise between rapture or rap; I'll take the rap
 We shift gears and stations and  pick up  a college blues station where
Robert Johnson holds  the ballad in slide guitar  in mid way of  "Dust my
Broom"
We navigate the potholes and  a switchback of a long hill not far actually
from the crossroads  where Johnson sold his soul to the devil ; but that was
another time and another devil ; somehow it was easier then. .

Mars Hill cemetery lays atop the climb ; waiting for me is a 72 caddy special
edition; with a 60 year old man in kaki's sporting a  grizzly home cut  flat
top cradling a Jack Russel that makes Mary his best friend.

We walk the grounds talking peas and corn bread ( weather and local news ) as
Mary dots and dashes with the playfull pup and our dog marks and pees  the
local trees of intrest.

There ahead lies the angel; head in the mud ;torso broken in half ; wings lay
scattered in bits.
The tablet reads 1892; the carving is good right out of the NewOrleans
studios from that period.
I excavate beside the head ; neck is intact and the face appears to be there
except perhaps the tip of the nose.
The break at the torso is clean. We will have to scaffold 20 ft raise and dry
fit the torso pieces in situ . If that is good we can go ahead and reset with
pins, putty and sculpting mud for any patches or missing feature  elements.

The wings I explain will have to go to workshop; to anchor what we have
together, then refit and resculpt as necessary back on site .
We then discuss money; which is always interesting; as different people chew
their steak in different ways.
 This distinguished gentleman ; a decon of the little church; brizzled and
grizzled in his flat top transfered his  bacca (chewing tobacco) from left to
right cheek ; studied me to blink ; then thought honestly and expectorated  a
warm brown  stream  of bacca  sideways  into the cut of the  lawn before
answering with  the affirmative ..
"Why then Go ahead son"
Little Mary as if on que ; takes out a scoobie doo band aid and places it on
the angel
head we laugh and the contract is signed with a handshake.
Pyrate

--
To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
<http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>