Saturday, July 25, 2009
Long before blogging and texting and twittering people wrote letters. They poured out their heart caught up with people they loved and they wrote and they wrote and they wrote. Letter writing is a lost art. Everything now is instant like cocoa. When is the last time you even knew someone who made cocoa on a stove? I am a romantic and love the idea of letters, the wondering, the way a handwriting will slant to the side wondering if when writing the writer knew someone would pour over the handwriting or just be lost in the message. It was a "revealing" of sorts, sharing yourself in a letter, something that had to be thought out.
So you would think that I'd be all over the text messaging thing. I am not a technical person. When Richie was 5 he had to learn to jimmy a lamp with a fork to make it work. When he's off at school and I want to watch the Moulin Rouge I will have to call him and ask him, "what do I do with the remote again?" at which he will always answer, "momma you are not a stupid person, why can't you figure this out?" Perhaps I could figure it out but then I'd lose the excuse to call him other than to find out if he gets up before noon away from home.
I purchased a blackberry for myself and was so thrilled when it arrived I had to get one for the best friend. You see we talk all the time, even more so than when she was here I think now that she's off in DC saving the world or making it more stylish. Our conversations never end, we never say "goodbye" it's always, "i'll call you later, call me tonight, or yeah call me when you figure that out." We have an ongoing something long (she doesn't want her age revealed of this I am certain) conversation that has never ended. I can't remember in all those years a day that has passed without hearing her voice, voices full of excitement, nervous energy, elation and sometimes tinged in a little sadness. Nothing happens until she knows about, not really. If I've seen a movie I know she will like (not lady in the water, she hated that one and the rant she has about why she hates it will make me laugh when I am alone throwing the cats into a frenzy.) she has to warn me not to give it away because in my excitement, I just may. Endless years of love, endless movies ruined.
She gets the blackberry, very excited because we have matching stuff. I love when we have matching stuff. A few years ago we were shopping together. I am not always a big fan of shopping, more of a get in get what you need and get out kinda person. She tries on swimsuits all afternoon and I am reading and poking at earrings and wondering about things. A few weeks later we are going to go swimming and I head downtown (it is very cool to swim on a high rise building) and we put our suits on and they matched. "where did you get that?" she asks me, not happy at all. "The bug of fashion." I was amused, highly amused. "Carrie, they fucking match. We look like a couple of bobsie twins." She wasn't angry with me because they matched, she was angry that when I was with her shopping I wasn't paying attention and when I went back along picked up three suits and headed home and had no IDEA they would match. Later she would shake her head and in an excited voice explain to me that I treat her like some husband treats his wife just nodding and "shining her on." So? I see her eyes glaze over at cat stories and I bet she could repeat maybe one of them, and she has been witness to the little gray cat I call "dog" stick her little arm in the big onion shaped vase by the door just to make sure nothing is in there. So it didn't come as a shock my dearest, youngest friend that I would shine her on about sending a text message. "I'll figure it out eventually." She'd send me messages and then ask later if I even bothered to carry the phone. Girls shouldn't have to be concerned with these insane little details. If I break down a boy oh so willing to help out will be along and the world will be just fine. No worries of plugging things in, keeping the charge (every phone in my house is near dead) and no worries about learning something new that didn't involved a new fingering technique (on the violin) or changing my breathing patterns.
So one day a guy asks me for my number. I thought about it and said I'd take his and text him my cell number. Now this wasn't a way to be coy, I couldn't remember my cell number that's how often I don't use it. I sent him the text and then one off to the best friend and it started. She was surprised and instead of waiting until she returned home from work to share the day's events we had a day long conversation that would stop depending if i was busy and start again when I'd be alone working, more than happy to put something down to pick her up. The random messages would be like our conversations a little like a Fellini movie
May 27, 2009 7:43 am
You up? Shaking out the cobwebs? Cuz it sure feels like Monday here :P
I am moving slow
Ayup. Happy freaking monday.
Duck the ham (ok, duck is blackberry speak for fuck and ham is suzy speak for anything involving much thought)
I could use me a little mario carts with an afternoon of duck the ham
me ducking too
Thank the lord you are 700 mi away then. Lol. Wed never leave the house because I am highly duck the ham suspectible today
you are playing too much barnyard pogo it's ducking with you
LOL go to facebook right now and sign up; then search for the farm town and get started you too will be ducking addicted in no time AND you could be my neighbor
Remember wehn elise (our niece) played with those stupid virtual pets, you are her.
In front of me right now I am working on a new layout for my farm sure makes the job go faster lol and I remember you playing with polly pockets
Hey, know what rhymes with chicken?
This conversation doesn't take the three minutes it takes to say it, it's hours and in that is the frustration and the joy. You have a thought, you share it. You have the need to take a photo and mail it off, its there in seconds. This morning she'd text me, working overtime telling me about chicken Lo Mein and some guy she met who likes role playing. She kinda liked being the teasing girl at the bus stop. Next time be a smurf and let him be pappa smurf, there's a REAL challenge. I know when she's giggling on that end, she's sure I am too because I always make myself laugh. She's in control there and she's liking it. Isn't life great? She'll find me later after she's rambled through some farmer's market on her way home and after I've put a few designs on paper. I've been considering shaving my head. I'll mention that later. I used to have the number at her office, when she worked here at the big law firm. I'd call her and we'd laugh for awhile pushing away the boredom. She'd tell me about all the characters in play there.
There was the guy who blurted out the strangest thoughts in the middle of the work day, the woman who told everyone about Jesus and his power and then the guy who worked there part time who taught at some university during the other time he wasn't there. She would tell things about him and I was a little fascinated by him. I like that he taught literature and that he took care of an ailing parent and that he was part of the world doing things I'd do if I had more time. So we are out in the car driving around her hair whipping out the window and yet so put together, we had lunch we were goofing off, being us. I casually mention to her that I wrote some guy a secret letter, didnt' sign it and just zipped it off into email space. "oh fun." she answers. "Who is it?" I wasn't sure how to tell her. When this guy introduce himself to her he called himself Gaylon Parker Jr. Best friend would be all over this, and from that day on only call him by his full name. I felt a little sorry for him because every single time I would mention that someone was deaf or hard of hearing or anything to do with hearing she'd say "what?" I'd repeat myself and she'd say again "wha?" and about the third time this happened I knew she was ducking with me. And then she'd whisper, "you always fall for that." So poor Gaylon Parker Jr was at the office being tormented by the oh so tall blonde who could rail on you straight faced even looking distracted. I had to tell her, couldn't wait a minute longer, "gaylon." It was almost the deaf routine turned on her. "wha?" she asked. "Gaylon." Best friend and I have nicknames for everyone we know. Richie is itchie, my ex is fat boy, she's goofy girl.
"I want to know him a little." I tell her. She's astonished. She really dislikes this guy and she figures in her head I've done this to torment her a little. Admittedly this is a bonus but was hardly my intent. "If I call your house" oh gods her rant will start. Her rants are few and far between but they make me scream in laughter. "If I call your house and that idiot answers the phone in his boxer shorts, tilting up and down on his toes rambling about baseball, I will drive there and kick your ass." Ha. This never happened. Gaylon (the name has been changed to protect the innocent) was paranoid because it appears the man in black has friends who had tormented him so horrid that he couldn't be flattered and took this all as some scheme to make him look stupid. I wouldn't do this under any circumstance. He doesn't know me though, how could he? We wrote a few notes back and forth and later I'd find out he's a 40 something year old virgin. What in the world is a girl like me going to do with that? Best Friend did call me later though making me swear on all that is holy that I'd never tell him how I found him, that I'd never make him fall in love with me, that I'd never toy with his heart a little, that I'd be good because the other day at the office, he gave her some "very knowing looks." The idea that he would have thought it was her, really does amuse me.
Bukowski once wrote that you couldn't write poetry if you were a virgin. There were some things you had to "know" and "feel." He said it was like describing boxing if you'd never been boxing. This is what I suggest today. I suggest you go out and get two phones. It's cheaper to have two than one. Give one to someone you love and during the day when you have a thought you'd like to share, send them off a text. Don't hold it, don't wonder about it, just send it off to the air and let it be carried on the wind and let them ponder it on the other side, this person with whom you'd share your thoughts. It will inspire you, make you laugh and if the other person is one tiny bit the fun my best friend is it will give you a new look at the world.
You can always find me at Summerpoet@msn.com or my work at www.poetsummer.etsy.com. Take care of you and your spirit.