When I put the phone down, the first thing that pops into my head unbidden is the stamps. I remember the postage stamps. He collected them- had for, well, always. I had shown some interest in the music themed ones and even the Vatican City ones and shortly thereafter, he had sent my parents home with a small manila envelope of them for me. For months now, that envelope has drifted around my kitchen in various sorted piles, waiting for me to do something with it. In my head, I had anticipated framing the stamps, but it was a distant thought for some other time. Right now though, that envelope is all I can think about.
I have to find it. I check my office first, hoping that some responsible part of me has already put it someplace safe. I hastily flip through files and overturn junk drawers. It's not here. I run back downstairs and check the shallow, decorative bowl that was meant to hold my keys, but ends up bearing the brunt of my disorganization. It's a mound of crisp, white mortgage statements and utility bills interspersed with crumpled up receipts and change. None of it matters. It all gets dumped unceremoniously in the search for anything manila colored. I find it, but there is no relief. Because I know it's not the only one. I find myself downstairs going through Christmas decorations, of all things. My Mom and Dad had given me some old Christmas decorations to go though and had tucked in two more little packets of stamps from him, even smaller than the first, for safe keeping. I had just let it all sit there. Had I even said "Thank You?" I pull them out and take the first good look at them that I ever have. They are about the size of an index card, with a label at the top, and a clear cellophane covering to protect and display the stamps. Each card is only meant to hold one or two stamps, but there are enough in each to make the plastic bulge. In red pen he had written my name, one in all caps and one in cursive. I think, not for the first time, that he and I both preferred to write in all-caps. Even the "R" on the cursive one is identical to my signature. I lose it. I clear the entire table and lay all the envelopes down reverently, silently counting the number of envelopes in my under-appreciated hoard and remembering that there is another set he gave my parents just last week. They had told me he had passed them along and I hadn't even remembered to ask for them even though I've seen my parents several times since then. Now, I'm wondering if I can make a polite inquiry to my Mom about them without upsetting my Dad. I don't open them. I just stare at them and wonder if the ones right behind the plastic were there for a reason. Did he just throw them all in here or is this particular stamp on top for a reason? I can see parts of other stamps, but despite my new-found curiosity, I don't dare open them. I feel like I don't have the right to. Later, as I'm turning off the light switch to go upstairs, my hand hesitates and my eyes are invariably drawn to the sets of stamps on the otherwise empty table. I take a long look accompanied by a shuddering breath before shutting off the light, like I'm worried I'll wake up tomorrow and the stamps will be gone too. *** I love you Grandpa, and thank you for the stamps. Say "hi" to Grandma for me.
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I can't write any more "I Can" statements. I mean, I can write more "I Can" statements, but I can't stand writing any more "I Can" statements. Maybe tomorrow I can write more "I Can" statements, but I can't write any more "I Can" statements today. I can only write this "I Can't" statement about why I can't write any more "I Can" statements. I can do that, can't I?
******* This is me, just going insane working on a graduate assignment where I have to rewrite a gaggle of "I Can" statements. I'm having one of those moments where the word you keep staring at starts to look weird and you start saying it out loud while over-enunciating. "I ca-nuh...." Oh, it's just me? *Fine, then. *It's a real thing.... semantic satiation. Look it up. Geez. There was an Old Man with a thirst.
He drank Shamrock Shakes at his worst! Still he was parched, To Chicago he marched, And Green River he drank 'till he burst! Today, I made a diagram for you. I'm realizing through this blogging experience that I tend to lean towards visual media to tell my slices (which causes me anxiety because I feel like a rule breaker, but then again, everything causes me anxiety) but also, that I wish "snarky info-graphic designer" were a legitimate career path.
I voted, went to work, and now I have a whopping 10 minute bathroom break in my graduate cohort class. I really don't have time to blog today, so please accept this Panda watching the Primary election results in my stead.
I see a student pick something up off the floor behind the music room risers and he's playing with it. I'm all the way across the room and I can't see exactly what he has.
"[Name], what are you playing with?" The student holds his hand high in the air and shows a band-aid, which had at one time been wrapped in a ring shape, and proceeds to slide it onto his finger. "Just a band-aid!" Gross. "Take it off and throw it away. That has germs on it. Please go wash your hands with warm soap and water right now." "It's okay, it's mine. I just dropped it earlier." Irrelevant. "[Name], please don't pick up used band-aids off the floor." "But it's miiii...." "-even if that band-aid was yours." "Okay..." I spent ten minutes today showcasing my vast band-aid collection and accompanying first-aid procedures with the class. I have 2,431 pictures on my iPhone and I've only had it since this summer. I receive approximately 3 pop up alerts every day that my phone has not been backed up to the iCloud in 134 days (and counting). I'm kind of a digital mess. Today, I decided to make a cursory glance to see A) what was taking up so much space and B) what I could delete, if anything. Notice that backing up my phone wasn't the go-to option here, making the alert go away was. Baby steps. What I found on my camera roll... was not what I had hoped. Rather, it was a running commentary on randomness, pop culture, and my appetite. Below are some pictures that didn't make the cut, for obvious reasons. Some are pictures I took, others are screen captures. Most of them were texted and shared to family members or friends. Lucky them. The story you are about to be told is not a flattering one, but it is a story nonetheless. On with the show! This picture of my Meijer shopping cart at Halloween (yes, I know it's March). If you think this is for trick-or-treaters, well, sure, let's go with that. These cupcake squeezie thingies I need to buy. Imagine the possibilities here. This Romeo statue I put a Santa hat on at my Uncle's house when visiting at Christmas. This important info-graphic, sent as an explanation as to why I was calling dibs on the queen size bed at the lake house this year. This picture of Bill Murray throwing a golf club, so I can respond to text messages appropriately. Such a masterpiece just screams "I'm over it." I have no idea what this is a picture of. This inexplicable upside down Christmas tree. in-ex-plicable. This guy knocking out my gyros platter. At the time, it felt important to group text this to my entire family because they weren't there and I wanted them to be jealous. That'll teach you to go to Five Guys without me! This "Jesus was a Feminist" pin that I bought on Etsy. These cupcake truffles that I offered to buy everyone in my family, but only if they texted me back before I left Aldi. I had things to do that day, ok? This times 462.
I feel like the batteries in the TV remote you forget about until they stop working. You stare at it for a moment befuddled, betrayed by its silent protest, and then continue to press buttons. It uses what feeble power it has left to acquiesce. You go back to forgetting about it again. Until the next time you need it.
My neighbors have a penguin. An awful, melamine, life-sized penguin on their front porch. Or I should say, they did...
A couple of thoughts.
Firstly, I feel legitimately upset on behalf of anyone who experiences the violation that is theft, tacky penguin or no. And no, I didn't take it, not even for the sake of wacky hijinx. I might want to rearrange your battalion of pink flamingos into a complex game of croquet in the middle of the night (complete with flamingo-sized sweater vests and wickets) but I wouldn't actually do it. But on the other hand, we're not exactly talking about objet d'art here either. To me, lawn decor is the bedazzling of landscape design. I get that you picked up that garden fairy from Krafty Korner in 1986, but it's time to let it go. Seriously. So enter the small, terrible part of me that is relieved I won't have to look at that faded, sad penguin ever again. Later, as I was cooking dinner (okay, fine, eating dry cereal out of the box if you want to be a jerk about it) I found myself thinking about what happened to that penguin. Did the Penguin run off with the Travelocity Gnome after breaking up with the Goose on the porch down the block? You know, I just knew that Gnome was trouble, I've been saying it for years! I really thought Penguin and Goose were going to make it. If you've taken my neighbor's penguin, they'd really like it back, okay? No questions asked. ***** Dear Neighbors, I'm sorry your penguin was stolen. I've made you a faux-photostory of what your penguin might be up to. Your penguin is in a better place(s) now. I hope it brings you comfort during this difficult time. Although (and I hate to have to be the one to tell you this) it appears your penguin will be voting for Donald Trump. PREFACE TO TODAY'S SLICE OF LIFE In Hamlet, Polonius says that "brevity is the soul of wit." I think we can reasonably assume he was talking about memes, right? Oh, you think not? Polonius also said "O, I am dying" so we're talking about a guy who values getting right to the obvious point here. That settles it, Shakespeare was definitely talking about memes. Good talk, you guys. I love memes more than reason allows. Sometimes in a conversation I want to respond with a meme, ala Polonius. But then I remember Polonius gets killed by Hamlet and think, why risk it?! For all we know, Hamlet just really hated Grumpy Cat showing up on his Twitter timeline. Nevertheless the fact remains, memes are just how I relate to the world. If you've seen the "Be Like Bill" memes popping up on social media, you know how annoying they are. But everything has its place, and I think I finally found its purpose in today's Slice of Life. TODAY'S ACTUAL SLICE OF LIFE Yesterday I got an email from my Graduate school professor. I assure you, I responded exactly as shown below, albeit only in my head. Maybe I'll just reply to his email with "O, I am dying" instead.
"Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief..." Hamlet Act 2, scene 2, 90-92 |
AUTHORReese: Elementary Music Teacher in Chicagoland. Clarinetist and Trumpeter.
I'm writing a Slice of Life every day for the month of March as part of the Slice of Life Challenge. See more at TWO WRITING TEACHERS. MY FAVORITE POSTS |