August 23, 2001
Sometimes I wonder about Jim Nightingale. I wondered about him last night at a party full of oenophiles. I’m sure Jim Nightingale drank beer. Jim Nightingale was the most exotic thing that ever walked up Gray’s Lane. Jim Nightingale lived three houses up. He was married to Ida Kohn, the daughter of Ziggy Kohn who sold Singer sewing machines. None of these people were Irish, which was, in the Ireland of 1970, a remarkable thing. Jim Nightingale was dodging the draft. He fixed your household appliances if they happened to be manufactured by Novum. Jim Nightingale was the Novum man. There must have been a lot of Irish housewives—they were still housewives then—who were very glad that they had purchased a Novum appliance and that it had subsequently malfunctioned. We didn’t have any Novum appliances. But on a regular basis Jim Nightingale would post two tubes of Trebor Sherbet through our letter box, one for my mother and one for me. Trebor Sherbet was a delicious concoction. It consisted of a cylindrical cardboard tube wrapped in faded yellow paper with weak red type. The contents were a white, fizzy powder. From the twisted top of the cylinder poked a black licorice tube that you could bite the top off and suck the sherbet through. I thought my mother ancient, beyond such things, but once, when Jim Nightingale put ice cubes in her wellington boots that she had taken off during a visit to his house, I saw her blush and giggle in a way I thought foreign to my mother. Jim Nightingale moved to Canada and eventually disappeared. When I was fifteen he sent me a photo of himself in an outdoor shower in the wilds of British Columbia, head, torso, and lower legs emerging from the wooden structure. Soon I will be the age my mother was when Jim Nightingale put ice cubes in her wellington boots.
I dreamt that you told me we couldn't come to dinner because Dewey had to go to Iceland, You informed me that he was shredding cabbage for his trip even as we spoke.
cv
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Sometimes I wonder about Jim Nightingale. I wondered about him last night at a party full of oenophiles. I’m sure Jim Nightingale drank beer. Jim Nightingale was the most exotic thing that ever walked up Gray’s Lane. Jim Nightingale lived three houses up. He was married to Ida Kohn, the daughter of Ziggy Kohn who sold Singer sewing machines. None of these people were Irish, which was, in the Ireland of 1970, a remarkable thing. Jim Nightingale was dodging the draft. He fixed your household appliances if they happened to be manufactured by Novum. Jim Nightingale was the Novum man. There must have been a lot of Irish housewives—they were still housewives then—who were very glad that they had purchased a Novum appliance and that it had subsequently malfunctioned. We didn’t have any Novum appliances. But on a regular basis Jim Nightingale would post two tubes of Trebor Sherbet through our letter box, one for my mother and one for me. Trebor Sherbet was a delicious concoction. It consisted of a cylindrical cardboard tube wrapped in faded yellow paper with weak red type. The contents were a white, fizzy powder. From the twisted top of the cylinder poked a black licorice tube that you could bite the top off and suck the sherbet through. I thought my mother ancient, beyond such things, but once, when Jim Nightingale put ice cubes in her wellington boots that she had taken off during a visit to his house, I saw her blush and giggle in a way I thought foreign to my mother. Jim Nightingale moved to Canada and eventually disappeared. When I was fifteen he sent me a photo of himself in an outdoor shower in the wilds of British Columbia, head, torso, and lower legs emerging from the wooden structure. Soon I will be the age my mother was when Jim Nightingale put ice cubes in her wellington boots.
- rachael 8-23-2001 6:53 pm
I dreamt that you told me we couldn't come to dinner because Dewey had to go to Iceland, You informed me that he was shredding cabbage for his trip even as we spoke. cv
- anonymous (guest) 8-24-2001 12:59 pm [add a comment]