The Two Larry's, oil and weed

No joke.  I really have two friends named Larry. 

Well, one Larry has known me since I came out of the womb.  He's early 50's.

The other Larry, a good friend of my parents and mine.  He's 61.

I can identify with both on some level to where the age barrier is erased.  I consider each a good friend, like brothers really. 

Here's the deal with the two Larry's.  They both show up for an  unannounced visit every now and then.  And damn them if they don't always show up out of the blue on the same day.  I enjoy both's company.

There is one physical characteristic the three of us share.

The fucking porn star mustaches.  Yes all three of us sport the same kind of fumanchu.  My buddy Jamie told me recently..."once you start rocking the 'chu you don't go back." 

The Larry's have been sporting the look since I could remember.  It must have worked for them in the 70's, early 80's if they hadn't cut it off since.  Me?  I grew my first one about 10 years ago.  Back then it was a time consuming task growing the pornstar mustache. 

It was pimp.  Two of my favorite sayings.....

"It's not what you drive, it's what you put in it." circa B.K. 2000.

"It's not what you wear, but how you wear it."

Words to live by really.

So the two Larry's stopped by unannounced at separate times.  They don't know each other except through my parents and me. It's not like they have each others' numbers.

The first Larry stops by around 5pm.  He is dropping off a flier for a golf outing for his son's travel league baseball team, a fundraiser.  I told him my folks left earlier for an overnight casino trip.  He asks if I have a lefty.  I told him I got my hands on some bubblegum chronic last night but I that stuff was gone.  He says "well Mike, I'll be back in a bit to smoke one with you."  Later dude.

The other Larry shows up a little bit after 6pm.  We talk.  I asked him how his social security claim was coming since I helped him and his wife file online to get it going.  This claim should be in the bag: he's 61, Vietnam vet, worked 40 years in a Ford plant and he has neuropathy from a gunshot wound 40+ years ago.  If there's anyone more deserving, show me.

Larry says to tell my dad he's not going to a different fundraiser golf outing next Sunday.  Entry fee is too steep at $75.  He stays for a while to chat.  I asked him the oil worked that I gave him a while back...oil reduced from medicinal marihuana plants to cook with.  The stuff obviously has a shelf-life. 

(yes I realize I spelled weed wrong up there but the state of Mi's medical mj cards have the mis-spelling across the top of them)

My sister and Jim swing by with some cabbage casserole and mashed taters they had for dinner.  Awesome.

Larry stays and talks about silly movies and tv shows with us.  We bullshit for an hour or so.  Larry leaves, Jim and Ang not too far behind. 

In the meantime I'm thinking "where's this fucking Larry with the joint?"  I got back downstairs with the intent of taking a shower.  I locked the doorwall.  Instead I came back down to sit and look at a blank blog.  Writer's block.

Just then I hear the sliding screen door fly open. I hear the other door stop from the lock, then a knock.  I run upstairs.  It's the other Larry. 

FINALLY.

I knew he'd show, he's a man of his word. 

He chews me out about the door being locked, calls me pussy like his son.  Nate is but a year younger than me. 

"Just like Nate, gotta have them doors locked tight"  shaking his head.

"You forget who are parents our, fucker!" I say!

We go out to the garage to get out of the wind.  I plug the garage in because my dad's too cheap to have a panel wired to the garage, it's truly Nigerian engineering at its best.  I plug in, he fires up.

"Where you been?"

"I said I'd be here, I'm good on my word."

We get to talking about the half done seashell windchime workstation I set up with my daughters.  He admires the 122 piece chime on my parents' patio. 

We start smoking, talking.  About chimes.  I show him six Agate stones I picked up from the pow wow a few weeks ago.  I take them out of the protective wraps and tap them together.  He likes what I'm laying down.  I show him the copper windchime I started making and explained that the tubing I had was too thin and too heavy. 

I was telling him about the Smokerhawk I picked up from the pow wow.  Half tomahawk, half peace pipe made of wood and brass.  I ran into the house to grab it.  We both agree it will mount nicely over the fireplace of whatever house I buy, and that it needs to be decorated with leather straps, beads, and Eagle feathers.

Call us dreamers, or as the Natives call it "visionaries."  We talk about our kids.  He tells me his 10 year old aspires to be a professional baseball player.  I know for a fact that if you tell a kid something long enough, they will become it.

For instance.

My girls are pretty artsy fartsy.  They dig art fairs, music, and anything you can create hands-on.  I always tell both of them...

You're such artists.

A little more programming and they're done.  They will be artists.  We're halfway there and having a dad whose dirt rich helps also.

Larry and I continue to talk for a few.  He had to leave shortly, has to be at work at 6:30am.  We talk about my legal matters and how I had aspirations on Tuesday but left disappointed.  How foolish of me to expect anything from anybody?

Larry grew up with my mom.  The man has a line of bullshit from here to the equator.  But I listen when my elders talk.  He offers up this tidbit of wisdom....

"I'll tell you lesson that takes half your life to realize: family will always be there for you.  Friends will come and go, BUT you know already the one's that will be around forever."

I stopped and thought about it in true pothead fashion.  I rubbed the 'stache a few times and said....

"Fucking A. Right!"