The shelf is high. I sit on the shelf sometimes, but sometimes I don't.
My friends sit on the shelf. They are my friends, and they sit beside me. Brown bear sits beside me and the book sits beside me too. They're my friends.
Sometimes we don't sit on the shelf. Sometimes we lay around the room all over the place and we don't go there but the boy puts us there. We stay there until the woman comes, and she is cross and she puts us back on the shelf, because that is where we go.
I like the shelf. It is high and I can see all my friends in the room, even the ones who don't sit with me on the shelf. I can see the dog on the dresser and the small man on the small table beside the bed. I can see the bear who lays on the bed. They are my friends.
One time a new friend came. He was new and there was a lot of excitement because he was new and nobody knew who he was and nobody knew if he would be our friend. We were afraid of him for a while, but then he became our friend and now nobody is afraid of him anymore. One time he went away for a long time but then he didn't come back. I miss him.
There are others who come sometimes and put us where we don't go. They make us move around for some time but then they go away and they leave us where they were and we lay there. I don't like when they leave us where we don't go. I go on the shelf.
Friday, May 20, 2011
ICR
A raggedy teddy with only one eye.
A music box, key long lost.
A faded picture. It it of his grandfather? Father? Himself? He couldn't remember anymore.
101 Knock-Knock jokes. A tin soilder. A paper fortune teller. Old bubblegum wrappers. He felt as though he should find some significance in the things he found, but none came.
A faded baseball. A love note. A picture of Elvis. He doesn't know why he felt compelled to pull in the step-ladder from the garage and investigate the old shelf high on his bedroom wall, but he did. Turning over the dusty trinkets between his wizened and liver-spotted hands, he searched for some reason as to why he would have such a strange assortment of things kept up on an out of sight shelf.
"Dad, what are you doing?" He turned, confused, and replied.
"I can't remember."
A music box, key long lost.
A faded picture. It it of his grandfather? Father? Himself? He couldn't remember anymore.
101 Knock-Knock jokes. A tin soilder. A paper fortune teller. Old bubblegum wrappers. He felt as though he should find some significance in the things he found, but none came.
A faded baseball. A love note. A picture of Elvis. He doesn't know why he felt compelled to pull in the step-ladder from the garage and investigate the old shelf high on his bedroom wall, but he did. Turning over the dusty trinkets between his wizened and liver-spotted hands, he searched for some reason as to why he would have such a strange assortment of things kept up on an out of sight shelf.
"Dad, what are you doing?" He turned, confused, and replied.
"I can't remember."
The Shelf from Carter
The view here on the shelf is amazing: snow-capped peaks in a dizzy-making, spiky-looking carpet below the horizon. It took six hours to hike up here, then another thirty minutes to scrape the shelf into the snow just below the peak. It's not that easy to dig out and then flatten a spot in the snow using just an ice axe, so you get sweaty with the effort. If the light lasts long enough and you've done this before, you put in an extra five to 10 minutes scraping a second shelf where you can stow your gear and set up your kitchen. Otherwise everything gets stashed at your feet, where you are sure to tangle yourself up in it during the night as you unconsciously shrink away from the edge of the shelf. You know, even in your sleep, that rolling the wrong way can take you over the edge and send you on a terrifying sleigh ride down the glacier in your slick-surfaced nylon-coated sleeping bag that would probably slide faster than a wet otter down a mud bank. And now, just thinking about it, you're all sweaty again. Time to stick the ice axe into a picket on the edge and lie down for a tense night's sleep. Dawn will be spectacular.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Best birthday ever
He closes the apartment door with his left hand, the grocery bag and mail in his right. Flips on the one overhead light in the tiny kitchenette, places the mail and the plastic bag on the counter. Five of the six beers into the fridge, all but one of the cardboard slabs of frozen dinners into the freezer. The bag gets saved for use later cleaning out the cat's litter box.
As he slides the frozen plastic tray out of the box and folds back one corner of the foil his phone rings. He lets it ring while he puts the dinner in the microwave and punches in the time, then picks up the phone off the counter and hits the button to answer.
He stands resigned while a small tinny voice sings on the other end of the line; finally the voice stops and he says,
"Hi Mom, thanks."
The voice speaks for a long while as he stands, flipping through the mail. Junk, junk, bill, junk.
"No, nothing special. Had to work a little late. How's Dad?"
The voice begins again and he stares distractedly out the kitchen window for a time, then replies,
"Do you need me to call the doctor's office again?"
As she continues speaking the microwave beeps ready and he takes out the dinner - steaming in some spots, still cold in others - and places it on a plate. He grabs a fork out of a drawer filled with a loose assortment of utensils and picks up the beer bottle with two fingers while holding the plate with the same hand, and walks a couple of steps to his chair. He puts the plate and the bottle on the side table and switches the phone to his other hand.
"Okay Mom, listen, I have to go...thanks for calling. Yeah...yeah, I love you too. I will. Thanks. Bye."
He sits down in the chair and opens his beer. He picks up the remote, turns the tv on, and starts to flip through the channels.
As he slides the frozen plastic tray out of the box and folds back one corner of the foil his phone rings. He lets it ring while he puts the dinner in the microwave and punches in the time, then picks up the phone off the counter and hits the button to answer.
He stands resigned while a small tinny voice sings on the other end of the line; finally the voice stops and he says,
"Hi Mom, thanks."
The voice speaks for a long while as he stands, flipping through the mail. Junk, junk, bill, junk.
"No, nothing special. Had to work a little late. How's Dad?"
The voice begins again and he stares distractedly out the kitchen window for a time, then replies,
"Do you need me to call the doctor's office again?"
As she continues speaking the microwave beeps ready and he takes out the dinner - steaming in some spots, still cold in others - and places it on a plate. He grabs a fork out of a drawer filled with a loose assortment of utensils and picks up the beer bottle with two fingers while holding the plate with the same hand, and walks a couple of steps to his chair. He puts the plate and the bottle on the side table and switches the phone to his other hand.
"Okay Mom, listen, I have to go...thanks for calling. Yeah...yeah, I love you too. I will. Thanks. Bye."
He sits down in the chair and opens his beer. He picks up the remote, turns the tv on, and starts to flip through the channels.
Best Birthday Ever
It was my second year in college, and I'd been working my ass off to pay the bills- I had three jobs, no free time, and and a bank account that barely teetered above "zero", even on my multiple paydays.
Christmas break was just an opportunity to work more - celebrating my birthday, or Christmas, seemed like an exhausting waste of time. I had homework to do, money to earn, and no energy for decorating the house or even sharing a beer.
So on my 30th birthday, I got to celebrate by waiting tables until almost midnight, then walked home through the snow, too tired to even share a shift drink with my coworkers at the restaurant. In fact, I hadn't even told anyone it was my birthday.
The house was dark when I walked up, which made me faintly angry. Granted, my boyfriend was often thoughtless, but if he was out with friends on MY birthday, he could have at least told me. I could see Christmas trees twinkling in other houses up and down the street, and again, I felt irritated at the boyfriend's lack of initiative - I loved Christmas, but why did I always have to get the tree? This year, it was just out of the question. I'm sure I sighed, standing outside my front window in the dark. It was depressing. What a way to start a new decade in my life.
I walked into the dark kitchen, dropped my things on a chair, and was getting ready to walk into the dark living room when I heard the boyfriend say "Honey-?"
Puzzled, I cocked my head, wondering why he was sitting in the living room in the dark. Then the lights came on, but not the usual lights. Christmas lights of every shape and color and were strung extragantly over every surface of the huge living room - the walls, beams, staircase, bookshelves, and best of all, a Christmas tree! A room full of friends was suddenly illuminated in every color of the rainbow. Birthday gifts were piled under the tree. My mouth fell open in wonder, and tears filled my eye just as the word "Surprise!" filled my ears.
Best birthday ever.
Christmas break was just an opportunity to work more - celebrating my birthday, or Christmas, seemed like an exhausting waste of time. I had homework to do, money to earn, and no energy for decorating the house or even sharing a beer.
So on my 30th birthday, I got to celebrate by waiting tables until almost midnight, then walked home through the snow, too tired to even share a shift drink with my coworkers at the restaurant. In fact, I hadn't even told anyone it was my birthday.
The house was dark when I walked up, which made me faintly angry. Granted, my boyfriend was often thoughtless, but if he was out with friends on MY birthday, he could have at least told me. I could see Christmas trees twinkling in other houses up and down the street, and again, I felt irritated at the boyfriend's lack of initiative - I loved Christmas, but why did I always have to get the tree? This year, it was just out of the question. I'm sure I sighed, standing outside my front window in the dark. It was depressing. What a way to start a new decade in my life.
I walked into the dark kitchen, dropped my things on a chair, and was getting ready to walk into the dark living room when I heard the boyfriend say "Honey-?"
Puzzled, I cocked my head, wondering why he was sitting in the living room in the dark. Then the lights came on, but not the usual lights. Christmas lights of every shape and color and were strung extragantly over every surface of the huge living room - the walls, beams, staircase, bookshelves, and best of all, a Christmas tree! A room full of friends was suddenly illuminated in every color of the rainbow. Birthday gifts were piled under the tree. My mouth fell open in wonder, and tears filled my eye just as the word "Surprise!" filled my ears.
Best birthday ever.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Best Birthday Gift Ever
Ok, I have to make a confession. Posting the Best Birthday topic was totally self-serving on my part. Some of you have already heard this story, but, as it's one of my favorites I'm telling it again.
We had moved back to the northwest just a short while before my 40th birthday. About the only person here Margaret knew at the time was our friend Rhonda. So they went out for drinks. With several of Rhonda's friends.
The next day I received an email from Rhonda. She explained something to the effect of, "Shawn, Margaret explained that for your 40th birthday you were hoping to have a threesome and since I'm trying to get pregnant she approached me about it. While I really like you guys and all I'm afraid this would have a negative impact on our friendship so I'm going to have to pass." I should point out that I was reading this at work, in a shared office space. And that I have a really good poker face. I was however mortified.
How in hell was I going to look Rhonda in the face the next time we got together? Could we all just brush it off as something said under the influence of one too many Manhattans and move on? Yeah actually, probably so. Then another email. This one was from one of Rhonda's friends whom I had met also over drinks a couple of weeks earlier. She too was turning me down for a threesome and was equally understanding of the situation and equally apologetic. By the time the third email arrived I was nearly in tears from trying not to laugh out loud and have to explain myself to my new coworkers. Over the next couple of days I received more mails each an escalation in lewd, lascivious and explicit scenarios from women, men and at least one married couple. And each turning me down for a threesome. Pretty sure I had tears running down my face by the end.
With the first email or two I was stunned Margaret would even think to propose such a thing. By the end I was humbled at her depth of deviousness to orchestrate such a plan. Best birthday gift ever.
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