let me not to the meeting of true minds
let me not to the meeting of true minds
admit flatulence.
We met on the first day of frosh week at Kings. Boris was a fart of a seventeen year old boy. I was a measly little mop topped Muppet. He and I were awkward together, a pair of playful platypodes surrounded by our Upper Canadian overlords.
His brown bob cut matched my blond locked Bono imitation. We liked the same music and found the world within the quad at Kings College to be alienating at best. I lived at home, excluded from the kinds of campus antics that make university a transformative experience.
The floor of his dorm room was my connection to campus life. I hadn’t seen Boris since he took off to work on organic farms one moment then work in ecological logging using draft horses the next. I thought he as nuts.
Randy called. I had been avoiding him. I was avoiding everyone and everything. The walls of life were closing in. My heart was feeling small.
The pills though? I’m not certain whether I wanted to brag about my new drugs or was merely feeling better about myself. I’m going to be generous with myself and suggest the latter was true.
What’s up Randy?
Boris. I’ve been in touch with Boris.
Boris? My breath went shallow, my pulse quickened. I hadn’t seen him in thirty years. I hadn’t heard that name in decades.
Randy continued: Boris is coming to town.
My eyes popped. A shiver went through me. Though I didn’t use his name, Boris has a big, bear like presence in both my heart and imagination. Boris logged trees with draft horses. Boris worked on the sides of mountains out west felling three hundred foot trees with a saw that had a forty two inch bar.
I needed to see him.
Borris? Still in disbelief I stammered, how did you connect with Boris?
I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Randy is a warm hearted man, a caring soul and a natural connector. Randy spent the last twenty years skipping around global hot spots, making films, and organizing people. He’s a great man backing a powerful woman. Randy was raised at the edge of the earth and has a poet’s soul with a twinkle in his eye that would make the devil blush.
That’s to say, Randy is pretty epic too. He continued:
His daughter is going to Uni here. He’s coming to visit her. We might be able to see him. There’s a problem. He needs a place to stay.
Randy had barely finished his breath when I interrupted firmly.
He can have my studio. If he’s busy, I don’t even need to see him. No pressure. Oh. How long is he coming for?
Just a night.
No problem. Have him text. I'll get the place ready for him.
Though I said ‘no pressure’ I really wanted to see him. I loved, er love Boris. Randy and Boris both occupy a special place in my heart.
Though we only knew each other for two or three years, thirty years ago, those were important years. Perhaps I’m a bit of a romantic, but these two snapperheads left an indelible mark on my soul.
I’m not entirely clear how things went down when we saw each other. I was like corn waiting to pop. Frenetic with anticipation, you’d have thunk that I forgot my meds. Boris used to call me Crazy Harry. I totally felt that - even making the same manic Muppet mouth as I cackled in anticipation.
It was a welcome experience to know that despite my meds, I could still access that hyperactive part of me that could grow almost manic with excitement. But with the meds? I could drive without needing to feel every corner and the rush of acceleration on the way to our reunion.
There were a lot of teeth - big smiles all around. And hugging. Big hugging. And back whomping. Boris was a mighty back whomper. Existing on a diet of mostly coffee, eggs and lard, his back whomps packed a wallop. His hugs were as generous as his smile.
We spent most of the next day together. We drank coffee and shared what seemed to be the important stuff that took place during our thirty years apart. Music. Family. Adventures. Jokes. We laughed a lot. We had all lived vastly different lives. There was one thing remained the same though.
The feeling I had hanging out with these guys was so familiar. It was like time stood still. Nothing was really different when we were fresh faced Muppets transitioning to adulthood. Now, our children are all either making, or on the verge of a similar pivotal time in their lives.
I hope they have the kind of luck we did in encountering each other. When I think about these dudes and what it’s like being with them, Sonnet 116 by Slick Willey Shakestheglobe comes to mind:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
Thirty years had passed. My heart was full. Love. Love of really good fucking dudes who I felt comfortable and alive with.
This kind of love doesn’t need to be uncommon. My heart swells with the words of Anne - Lucy Maud Montgommery’s exuberant fool:
Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out that there are so many of them in the world.
Love persists.
Love transforms.
Love is everywhere in the world.
So are the kindred spirits, the true minds.
Open your heart, lose your mind.
Find the others.
People have been sending addresses for the postcard club!
I’m stoked!
If you’re participating, expect an email with an address by March 17.
If you want to join in the hilarity, you’re running out of time,
A quick reminder: THE POSTCARD CLUB - that’s a thing. Reply to this message with your mailing address. I’ll give it to someone else and give you a mailing address so you can mail someone else a postcard. You will not be given the address of the person who has your address. Send this to me today. We’ll start sending postcards around the middle of March.
I’m devoting 2023 to finding and registering the Remarkable Fools of the world. For Remarkable Fools, what was once embarrassing or awkward, is now a thrilling leap to a life more fulfilling. How will we find the fools? A series of pop up live talk shows where the audience are also the guests. Highly interactive and playful, you’ll laugh till you cry or cry till you laugh.
This is changing a bit. Talk show? Perhaps it’s becoming a game show instead. We shall see what we shall see.
What are we doing here anyway? - An Evening of Remarkable Foolishness is a live, improvised talk show where the audience are the guests. What results is an evening of outrageous, touching, playful, interpersonal magic. It's a chance to experience being perfectly imperfect and beautifully human together. You'll wake up and feed that curious, joyful, ambitious part of you, That part of you that's deep in your spine - you know that feeling of being really alive? Ideally that.
This is participatory, sober fun. You’ll most certainly engage with the people around you. You might even get to come up on stage with the host. The choice is yours.
Expect the unexpected.
At the Remarkable Fools Society we believe that people are neither fundamentally good, nor fundamentally bad. We're fundamentally limited, incomplete fools who sometimes achieve greatness or live wonderful lives despite our foolishness. Remarkable fools do this because of our foolishness.
Hosted by Jim Dalling, the Scribe of the Remarkable Fools Society, What Are We Doing Here Anyway? - An Evening of Remarkable Foolishness explores our greatest successes and joys in life from humble beginnings to heroic triumphs.
Come share in the magic.
Interested in doing this online? Drop me a line and we can see what we can see.
What the shit? I hadn’t seen this dude in thirty years and yet, I’d still rather get a text than actually talk to the human. Technology has changed us.
