I forgot how much work goes into writing a letter and mailing it until my son went away to camp. No emails? No! Only postal letters. Compose a hand written letter, find an envelope, address it, and don’t forget a return address. Lick the inside fold of the envelope to seal it. Put a stamp on it, mail it, and it should arrive in 4 days- Seriously?!
Does anyone really know anymore how much it costs to send a letter? Do people still have stamps hiding in a drawer? If not, are there still stamp machines around where I can just get one useful stamp, along a one cent stamp I’ll never use? Please tell me I don’t have to go to the post office, or embarrass myself by asking for a pack or roll of stamps! Let me check the desk one more time. Yes! Found one on top of the pink eraser block I haven’t touched in 5 years!
Not as easy as an email, but the worst of it is over- right? Shit! Where can I find a mailbox? “Siri- is there a mailbox near me?” One pick up? At 5 pm? Damn! Do I still have to pull the small blue door handle of the mailbox -then insert the letter into its mouth- close it; shut it, the then open it again just to be sure it was swallowed up?
Ok, he should get that in 4 days….just as we are picking him up…..Shit!
Sitting on the only remaining seat on the L train, covered in black leather with faded flecks of gold is her purse. You know her. She’s the one who appears oblivious to how many people are standing. She makes herself appear busy by having her thumbs do a drum solo on her iPhone. But really she is just daring you to ask her for the seat. In fact, now her leg covered by the black and cream diamonds on her dress inches over to protect her valuables. And then when her stop arrives, she pushes, and demands the standees move aside so the queen may exit.
Scrolling down my reader, I become increasingly judgmental of the many “top 100” or “awards for best…….blog” pages. More specifically, it annoyed me to see very intimate poetry slapped together in a list for pointless recognition. I think of trophys and ribbons as being given to winners in a competition. And I just can’t grasp the idea of making this distinction between losers and winners with poets and other artists unless they choose to compete. What am I missing here? What do you think?
I just learned how to reblog. So when I’m tapped out and lacking, I will give up Forwardthinkingdad blog real estate to support others who inspire me. And when my creative spirit awakens…..you’ll know.
Do elementary school classrooms still have dulled metal pencil sharpeners secured to a wall? Waiting for the next child to crank its handle so it can gnarl on the yellow chewed up wood until it reaches a sharp point; and then feast on the number #2 shavings in its oblong belly? And when fully consumed, does the school custodial engineer/janitor collect and save the grinded remains, so it can be used to absorb the days lunch the next time a second grader violently hurls their mac n’ cheese and strawberry jello down the long winding staircase leading directly to the bathroom on the first floor?
I hunkered down in a small waiting room chair in an older doctor’s office. I gazed at another chair just like the one I was sitting in across the room. The chairs were non descript…….making no statement, just doing their job day in and day out. They were tan with leather across the seat. The arms and legs were made of a soft light colored wood that had gotten darker over the years. The arms had a tired look as though many nervous hands had fingered, scratched, and rubbed them over the years. I imagined one person’s finger prints seeping into the soft wood. When the next patient came and put their hand in the exact same spot, what would seep up through the wood? Could the next person feel the worry, sadness, and fear of the hand that had clutched that rounded corner a day before or an hour before?
I am sitting on a hydraulic gas filled Herman Miller black and walnut chair. I’m sorry. I lied. It’s a knock off.
As I slide into the faux leather seat, I realize my son set the chair to its maximum height.There is very little room between my knees and the bottom edge of the narrow DIY butcher block pub table from Target.
As I lean back to think, my chair, in almost a Quigi board way slowly rotates in a circular motion to the right, and then stops at what might be the letter A or V, depending on how you see two corners of a wall coming together.
As I resist twist myself back, I press my feet on the metal foot rest and force my palms against the counter to fight the chair from independently escaping. At just the right moment, I slide my hand gently down the shiny metal and clumsily lift the black plastic lever so that I may gradually lower the seat but instead I experience a sudden drop in air pressure! I expect to hear a pilot say ” ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. Looks like we got some turbulence up ahead and expect a bumpy ride. So we’re going to put on the fasten seat belt sign and ask you to return to your seats.”
But today, there was no pilot- no warning- just a sudden drop….a very sudden drop.