Adjective City

We were discussing wine lovers the other day and how sometimes they have a suitcase full of forced adjectives to describe the drink. And then an excellent point was raised by my brilliant brother: There is probably a equal range of complexity in other foods and drinks, but people choose not to describe it with such pretentious zeal because it does not have the same cachet. Tea, beer, cheese, bread and the list goes on.

Fiction Fridays: Lost and Found

Cleaning out the lint traps on the dryers was her favorite thing to do. The lint colors were a subtly graded continuum of all the muted tones in the world, or in the neighborhood’s fabrics anyway. She liked that they were woven together by the dryer’s repetitive tumbling cycles; they were a fabric of fabrics. Yes there was dust and dirt but she knew it was best for her not to think about that kind of thing.

She had worked in her parent’s laundromat since high school. Essentially, she hated it, but over time she encouraged herself to find the quiet comforting spirit in objects and processes. It was her only attainable hope.

It was very hot in the back by the dryers, the quarter machines jammed at least 2 times a day, on Sundays it was most crowded and wet clothes were very heavy to carry, especially when they were not your own. Jeans were the worst, always twisting into a nest of black and durable arduousness.

Her most deeply hibernating dream lie in the bruised tupperware container that sat in the back by her Mom’s favorite orange upholstered chair. This was the lost and found bin. None of these objects had been claimed or remembered for months and in some cases years. It was never cleaned out, and Petra liked it that way. It represented all the dispensable things that people had in their lives, but didn’t know it and probably never would. Pennies, screws, earrings, beads, pencil stubs, barrettes, paper clips, buttons, unidentifiable metal curiosities, stones and other assorted pocket sized treasures.

Petra dreamed of creating jewlry from the fragments people left behind. She wanted to organize the remains of the lives she had touched, to string them together piece by forgotten lonely piece. This dream was maturing in her head a little more each time she thought of it. She was starting to work the details out in her mind. Thin golden wire wrapping around baubles of miscellany, uniting and honoring them, giving them a restored raison d’etre. Charms of the charming, pieces of the peacemakers and trinkets of the truthful all woven into a new precious gift.

“Petra! Petra! The dryers need cleaning!” her Mom wailed from the back. She scurried back there and began the task again, this time more peacefully than the last, because she was beginning to realize that her captivating dream was truly at her fingertips.

Old Friends Sat on Their Park Bench Like Bookends

We spoke about people who steal energy away from you like a thief in the night. Slowly and clandestinely weakening the architecture of your being. You speak to them, probably smiling without your eyes.

As we get older we realize that our time is too precious to interact with people who require too much energy.

But isn’t it always a rare and exotic treat to find people who actually energize you.

Tonight I had dinner with some old and wonderful friends who no matter how time changes our situations or perpectives we always respect and cherish each other on a deep and unpretentious level.

They have a refreshing faith in me that I dont have the strength to carry with me every day, but if I did I would do all the things I wanted to do with unwavering confidence.

The Exceptional Strength of Imagination

I liked you yesterday evening, but I love you today.

Is it possible to arrest reality in your head and not blow something up over time to make it better or worse than it actually is?

This is a recurring theme in my life I have found, when it comes to a lot of things. Being capable of abstract thought is both a virtue and a vice.

Last night we went to see a potential space for the wedding and I liked it very much. But as I think about it more and more today and imagine clusters of glowing tea lights and laughing loved ones around I am finding that I am falling in love with it.

In A Sentimental Mood

What do you do when you receive a gift that is not your style?

Do you accept it willingly into your life and let it gently yet persistently peck away at the vision you had for your living space?

It sits there like an incontinent puppy, innocent and sweet-tempered but soiling your floor.

I suppose we are collections and reflections of the people around us, so maybe our bookshelves, cabinets, closets, walls and drawers should proudly display that diversity.

These knick-knack sentiments create a mosaic of good intentions that glitters with the graceless charm and generous humanity that our life has provoked.

And just as life does not always turn out exactly as planned, neither does our living room.

Sweet Replaceable You

When I spoke of leaving my last job, where I spent countless days on my knees untangling computer cords and restarting the router, I would say, “they are going to miss me when I am gone!” with haughty emphasis.

I would say this in my head and and out loud to some. Until someone pointed out that I was wrong. That they weren’t going to miss me and all the menial, detailed, cryptic tasks I performed would be happily done by the next schmuck that came along.

We may think we find a purpose for ourselves, but that does not mean that someone else cant fill the same niche when we are gone. And only a delusional fool would convince themselves otherwise.

Most work that is done does not allow for enough creativity that a person can serve a unique enough function to be recognized as indispensable.

Your taped up sincere photographs can be struggled off the walls and your favorite steady pen and perfectly sized coffee mug packed in a to-go bag.

The job can never be lucky to have you, you are always lucky to have the job. Something to keep another body busy, which just happens to be the stupendous, original and passionate You.

Fiction Fridays: Rained Out

There will be no Fiction Friday post today due to inclement weather.

Have a lovely weekend.