Monthly Archives: August 2013

a kiss is just a kiss. unless it’s a miss.

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when he was just 6, one of my kindergarteners handed me this story that he had written using his invented spelling. . as he read it aloud to me, i transcribed it into more traditional adult spelling. i found it to be heartfelt and very funny and i’ve saved it among my treasured writings . recently, i gave him a copy of his story, as he heads off to college, a little older and perhaps little more worldly and wiser. 

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original invented spelling version

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transcribed version

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Women still remember the first kiss after men have forgotten the last.

Remy de Gourmont

 

what has 4 wheels and writes?

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i am fascinated, time and again, by my garbagemen. they’ve taken on the role of old-school catholic nuns – strict with their rules, calling me out in front of everyone, and trying to teach me using a tough love approach, though they use ink rather than chalk as their medium of choice, and rap my knuckles with pens rather than wooden rulers.  

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i am always amazed, that for some reason, there are times when they see fit to stop on their route and write me a note, leaving sticky notes on top of my bins. these notes tell me what i’ve done wrong: bins too close together, wrong item in the wrong bin, green bin to the left of the blue bin, trash not in alphabetical order, and god knows what else, a myriad of my garbage sins.   

i find it hilarious that they will take the time to stop and write me these notes rather than just moving a bin over 8.5 inches if need be, taking the trash, and going on with their day. no, instead, they leave it full and with a note atop, promising to be back the next week at the appointed hour to attempt to pick it up again, when my mistake has been corrected. i imagine, at that point they figure i will have done my penance and they will have forgiven me my sins and they are willing and able help me to dispose of my trash, so that i can start anew with a clean slate once again. these guys are all forgiving and have no limit to trying to teach me to do better, and i plan to give them a lovely pen set for christmas this year. 

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 I lived through the garbage. I might as well dine on the caviar . Beverly Sills

 

it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing

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going through my mother’s papers – organizing, passing on, saving gems – i came across an old newspaper, circa 1962, and loved everything about this article:

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“Show me a man with a great golf game, and I’ll show you a man who has been neglecting something.”
-John F. Kennedy 

 

shopping with methuselah at home depot

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None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.  – Henry David Thoreau

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while waiting in line to buy some late summer flowers, i heard a sweet voice over my shoulder. i turned to look, and the man behind me, who appeared to be at least 157+ years old, was talking to me.  his joy was infectious, and left us both happy, after such a short and random encounter.

methus: ‘wow, a pretty girl has bought me a flower!’

me: ‘yes, it is for you.’

methus: ‘only charge her 1.98 please.’

(checkout woman looked confused. looked at the price tag again. meths laughed out loud.) 

methus: ‘have you been good?’

me: ‘yes i have.’

methus: ‘i expect not.’

me: ‘are you having a good day?’

methus: ‘hell, i don’t know. i wouldn’t even know the difference.’

(another hearty laugh as i gave him one of my flowers and we each went our separate ways) 

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Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been. – Mark Twain

 

a horse, a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

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 a human adventure of the finest sort brought to life from my recent time down under. i was so taken by this, i’ve decided to share it even though i’ve since returned. while i was there, an extraordinary woman passed away. this is her story. 

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Not what I have, but what I do is my kingdom. Thomas Carlyle

tributes poured in from around the world with the news that princess shirley casley, of hutt river, age 84, had passed away, surrounded by family and friends. shirley was the wife of self-proclaimed prince leonard casley, and matriarch of the principality of hutt river, a 75sqkm micro-nation north of perth. 

prince richard casley, one of her seven children, said the family ‘was reeling from the loss of their rock, a woman who lived for her family, and a true matriarch.’  a fine familial tribute if i’ve ever heard one.

the casleys, a farming family, made history in 1970, when they declared their property to be a separate country apart from all of australia,  in protest to the government’s imposition of low wheat production quotas. under australian law, the government had two years to respond to the declaration, and their failure to do so resulted in the official birth of the principality in 1972. 

shirley and her prince leonard, the love of her life,  bought their wheat farm in the 1960s, were married for 66 years, and raised seven children, twenty grandchildren, and thirty + grandchildren there. once the principality came into being, they introduced their own currency, postage, and visa requirements. 

prince richard said his mother preferred to stay out of the spotlight, but was the behind the scenes driving force behind the principality –  hosting dignitaries, media, and the 40,000 tourists who visited each year.  ‘we’ve had messages from people all over the world who knew her. she was a very special woman to so many people – she enjoyed life,” he said. an understatement i’m sure.

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Our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.  Oscar Wilde

 

 

i cannot believe you are leaving me like this after all we’ve been through together

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just got a handwritten note from my newspaper deliveryman. he said he is ‘quitting the route to move on to something else’,  but that he’s enjoyed our years together. it’s all so sudden, and we have had such a rocky history, but i will miss our odd give and take. 
 
even though we never met each other, we’ve had many interactions over the years. because he is a man, and not a boy, he delivers from his car, early morning, and our ships pass each other in the night. he’s an interesting delivery guy, seems a bit on the lazy or crazy side, and i’d love to know his story. 
 
each morning, while it is still dark out, he drives by to deliver the paper. when delivering, he inevitably is a lazy/bad shot and tosses my paper to the end of my driveway where it slopes and collects water, snow, and whatever other debris that nature has chosen to deposit there.  i’ve emailed and called the paper various times to have them ask him to please just throw it closer to the house, or out of the water zone, etc.  his response time and again, has been to wrap the paper better and throw it 8-12 inches further up the drive.(i have done my mathematical calculations, and have figured out that by the time the next decade rolls around, it should be somewhat close to my house.)  he keeps this up for around 2 weeks generally, and then it’s back to the end of the driveway. one time, he actually drove further up the driveway and threw the paper, but backed into my wooden garden border on the way out, so he must have decided it wasn’t worth the high level of risk involved.
 
there are other times when he’s failed to deliver, or delivered late, and the local manager has had to deliver it himself or i’ve been credited, or he’s said that because there were so many ads, and it took him a long time to put it all together. it was always something with him, but i never gave up hope that over time, he would master the process. (plus he was the only one who delivered the paper in my area.)
 
even after all of this, one of our most memorable experiences has to have been the time i heard an early morning crash in front of my house. my first thought was that i had my car that i was selling parked out front and that the paperman was probably the only one out at that time of day. i soon saw blue flashing lights and answered a knock on my door. it was the police telling me that my paperman had rammed into my car, and that he was calling his paper to get advice. they said he was driving on the wrong side of the road, so that he could deliver the papers and had slammed into my car. now, a few questions went through my head – like why he didn’t notice a car in right in front of him?, was he still out partying from the night before?, etc. 
 
we looked across the dark, towards each other, and that is the closet we ever came to meeting. i called his paper, who agreed to pay for repairs and a rental car. he continued to be my paperman, and each christmas he’d enclose a card in one of the papers, wishing me a happy holiday, thanking me for my business, and enclosing a self-addressed envelope.  i’d always tipped him by mail when getting a bill, and at christmas i’d send him a bonus, as he’d grown on me after all these years, and in spite of his beyond horrible delivery style. and now, it is all over, with just a letter. it ended as suddenly as it all began. i will do my best to move on and i wonder what he has chosen to move on to. 
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‘If there was no Black Sabbath, I could still possibly be a morning newspaper delivery boy. ‘ – Lars Ulrich

the lost art – part deux

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after yesterday’s post, a few of you asked to see this piece of art that went on a long, disjointed journey as it made its way to my house.  somehow, this whimsical pastel bunny made it all the away across the ocean from poland and then through a maze of american post office locations and crazy systems and insane red tape, all to finally land upon my wall. for that i am happy. 

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“Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.”  ― Lemony SnicketThe Beatrice Letters