Everything's Peachy
"Having seen dung beetles, I'm kind of ashamed of what I want in life" Don Peachy
Peach died yesterday afternoon. Like far too many people, he died too young. The wonders of modern medicine made his last few months comfortable, and I think from my frequent visits that he was never in any serious pain. He was an enigmatic fellow. Whenever anyone asked how he was, he would reply "just Peachy". The capital P is mine, but I'd like to think he was inferring it.
I was introduced to Don on the occasion of his fortieth birthday party. It was a raucous affair, and we made a colossal noise in the basement with Don playing his bitchen set of Ludwigs, Earl on his telecaster, and Mike on some kind of keyboard. I got to barmp my horn for the first time with one of the most creative musicians I've ever had the pleasure of jamming with. Later that evening, Mike stuck a video camera in my face and asked me what I thought of the the birthday boy. I replied "I hardly know the man!".
I am fortunate that I came to know him. Don, Earl and I played music every week for almost 8 years. We had a rapport. After that amount of time we were very quick on our feet when it came to improvising. Lia and Larry joined up and we became the world famous Composters. Famous in Keady and Noelville Ontario I guess. Large amounts of it were pretty weird, but every once in a while, we could come up with something that deserved to be recorded because of the quality of expression. Playing music has got to be one of the best ways to really know a person. Don knew this.
Like most people, he was full of contradictions. He could play the fool, but he suffered fools badly. He was quite capable of the most base humour, but he could match wits with the best. He was a trader in things both tangible and intangible. Material and ideas. He had modest ambitions but great dreams. He only wanted a small corner of the world, but he wanted to conquer it nonetheless. He had an inquisitive mind, full of both useful and arcane knowledge. And yet, he could wink and say "I'm just a dumb Postie. What Do I know?"
Dung beetles get their shit together. Don did too.
Peach died yesterday afternoon. Like far too many people, he died too young. The wonders of modern medicine made his last few months comfortable, and I think from my frequent visits that he was never in any serious pain. He was an enigmatic fellow. Whenever anyone asked how he was, he would reply "just Peachy". The capital P is mine, but I'd like to think he was inferring it.
I was introduced to Don on the occasion of his fortieth birthday party. It was a raucous affair, and we made a colossal noise in the basement with Don playing his bitchen set of Ludwigs, Earl on his telecaster, and Mike on some kind of keyboard. I got to barmp my horn for the first time with one of the most creative musicians I've ever had the pleasure of jamming with. Later that evening, Mike stuck a video camera in my face and asked me what I thought of the the birthday boy. I replied "I hardly know the man!".
I am fortunate that I came to know him. Don, Earl and I played music every week for almost 8 years. We had a rapport. After that amount of time we were very quick on our feet when it came to improvising. Lia and Larry joined up and we became the world famous Composters. Famous in Keady and Noelville Ontario I guess. Large amounts of it were pretty weird, but every once in a while, we could come up with something that deserved to be recorded because of the quality of expression. Playing music has got to be one of the best ways to really know a person. Don knew this.
Like most people, he was full of contradictions. He could play the fool, but he suffered fools badly. He was quite capable of the most base humour, but he could match wits with the best. He was a trader in things both tangible and intangible. Material and ideas. He had modest ambitions but great dreams. He only wanted a small corner of the world, but he wanted to conquer it nonetheless. He had an inquisitive mind, full of both useful and arcane knowledge. And yet, he could wink and say "I'm just a dumb Postie. What Do I know?"
Dung beetles get their shit together. Don did too.
posted by othercat @ 2:00 a.m.
1 Comments:
At 2:12 a.m.,
sassinak said…
I am fortunate to have met him and it saddens me that I did not know him better. If a man can be judged on the quality of his friends then this man was a Prince among men. You are as lucky to have known him as he was lucky to know you.
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