tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10606142793932623202024-03-13T23:16:29.479-07:00Pearl, Why You Little...What once ensured that I sat at a table next to the teacher is now posted, Monday through Friday.Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.comBlogger2310125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-26468735952214266552020-07-22T09:30:00.000-07:002020-07-22T09:30:09.305-07:00Slightly Compromised; or I’m Sure I’ll Be Fine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My memory used to travel down seasonal paths.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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What’s that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
restaurant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, yeah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When were we last there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I remember </span>it was cold, but no snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it November?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember wearing the “winter white” coat,
the one with the fabulous collar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And Diana wore flats with no socks? How does she stay warm? Oooh, and d</span>o you remember the restaurant on the lake?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peg was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wore a one-piece pantsuit she came to
regret around the end of her second drink.<o:p></o:p></div>
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People.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
hanging out with people, sometimes in large groups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We sat next to each other, broadly grinning into each other’s faces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes we hugged or sang karaoke. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun
rises, falls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little changes but maybe
my shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When did I last wear a pair of pants with a zipper?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it yesterday?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it last week?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Does it matter? </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Is there anyone keeping score?</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Pearl, to borrow a phrase, has become unstuck in time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I mean, don’t get me wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <i>hear</i> people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I even <i>see </i>people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost five months into a work-from-home situation
that I would’ve thought far more pleasurable than it actually is, there are
people on Zoom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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There are people just over that fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People on TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People upstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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But are they present?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nay, my friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pearl – who now
refers to herself in the third person, occasionally with what she imagines to
be a 19<sup>th</sup> century English accent – can go days without a mask-to-mask
conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless, of course, we’re
talking about the mask I’ve adhered to the wall, the one I call “Wilson”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wilson and I are tight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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It’s like he can read my mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps things will be better in the fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll find that coat, maybe get a mask to
match.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wilson and I will go out, split an
order of fries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe share a straw.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It will be magical.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-43598887501743686922019-07-02T08:00:00.000-07:002019-07-02T08:00:01.041-07:00Oh, You Know. Just Squeakin' By.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is a drawer at my desk that currently contains a can of organic carrot soup, an envelope of<i> dried</i> soup, canned peaches, a ziploc baggie of dried apricots, and, for crying out loud, a dozen packets of Kikkoman soy sauce.<br />
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Good heavens. What am I preparing for?<br />
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Canned food. Dried fruits. Lotion, band aids, birthday candles. Wrist guards, silverware, a spare umbrella. Salt packets, dried-up pens. A bottle of <a href="https://www.beanogas.com/" target="_blank">Beano</a> sent by one's sister, who worries, often and aloud, about office courtesy.<br />
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It is when the sky grows dark, with thunderstorms, blizzards and/or black helicopters that I imagine, all over the world, the drawers of the terminally employed. In my mind, I go quickly from Pearl, Office Wonder Grunt, to Pearl, Last Woman on Earth, skittering through the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Habitrail" target="_blank">Habitrail</a>-like skyways and tunnels of Minneapolis, gleaning the canned fruits and extra socks from the abandoned offices of downtown office workers, stopping, perhaps, to nibble, nervously and mouse-like, on random packets of saltines...<br />
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Wait. Am I a rodent now?<br />
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Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-60715110582369183722019-06-28T08:14:00.003-07:002019-06-28T08:14:37.290-07:00Representin'! or People. Huh.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The bus, this morning, smells of hot dish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some sort of tomato-based, Italian-sausaged,
crusty-cheese-topped hot dish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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It is 6:35 am, and I am ready for dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What time did this person get up, anyway?<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the uninitiated, there are many potential smells to
the bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The </span>February unwashed-winter-coat
smell of the horror of middle winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weed-y <i>What?-I’m-holding-this-for-a-friend</i>
smell creeping from backpacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Smells of
flowers bought at the farmers’ market, of exuberant cologne wearers, of wet
hairspray.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Generally, though the bus smells of nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Impressive, no?<o:p></o:p></div>
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How do they do it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Of the hundreds, maybe thousands of people that ride a bus in a day, can it be that the majority of us are reasonable human beings?<br />
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I got into a conversation the other day.<br />
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"I don't know how you do it," she said. "Riding the bus?" She shudders, shaking her head. "Ugh. So dirty. All those people. You just don't know what kind of person you're dealing with."<br />
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"Weird," I said, "that's what they say about you."<br />
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And didn't <i>that</i> get me a look.<br />
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I took a good look around today. Just who <i>are </i>we dealing with? The guy who wears long sleeves no matter the weather, the psoriasis peeping from his wrists. The woman, dab-dab-dabbing moisturizer on her face for the three miles downtown. The man in the business suit and track shoes, reading 1984. The woman who went from slender to pregnant to mother of a six year old -- she shakes now, relies on a cane -- maybe early 30s. The man with the pointy head, traveling with a boombox and usually dressed as an NBA player, circa 1976. The middle-aged lady in sensible heels and a jaunty hat, her purse balanced on her lap, waiting...<br />
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Bus Friend Sandy boards. "Look at you," she says, sitting down. "All dressed up."<br />
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I smile at her. "Just holding up my end of the bargain," I say.<br />
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Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-54955517916591882822019-06-26T08:00:00.000-07:002019-06-26T09:32:23.571-07:00On the Other Hand, I Can Belch When I Feel Like It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hello hello hello!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Acme Gravel and Grommets Corporate lackey here!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m so glad you dropped by!<o:p></o:p></div>
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You know, I don’t always come into work on time, but when
I do, rest assured it coincides with the days that there is no one else on the
floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People on vacations, people
working from home (WFH, or as those in the know say, “whiffing”), people
working from, oh, who knows where.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
the anything-goes 21<sup>st</sup> century, where people take conference calls
from the beach and people in the office are alone with their computers and overcome with the sound of the heating/cooling
system, a gentle <i>whoosh</i> that makes you grab last winter’s shawl and
contemplate the under-desk nap you’ve been meaning to take for the last 30
years.<o:p></o:p></div>
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An intern skulks by. Backpacked and pale, she heads
toward the elevator bank, beaten down through long hours (here and at school) and a
propensity for introversion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hasn’t built up any work defenses yet. Shall
I tell her of “the ropes”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell her
where the good pens are hidden?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would
she possibly be interested in knowing of the offices most likely to produce quality,
under-desk naptime?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Far down the hall, the World’s Busiest Assistant is whistling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s been in this line of work since certain
fish took to land and is remarkably unwilling to learn anything beyond what she
already knows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But oh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pressure!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Has she told you of the time she had to order lunch for 20 and THEY
FORGOT THE NAPKINS?<o:p></o:p></div>
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She will. </div>
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And on the day she tells me again, I shall smite her.</div>
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Note to Self:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Must
warn intern of making eye contact with the WBA, that to agree to lunch is madness, that she should never leave
with her to a third location.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Ah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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So there <i>was</i> a reason for me coming in today, after all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-53059848522818210442019-06-25T10:00:00.000-07:002019-06-25T10:01:00.642-07:00What Time is It?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My grandson’s first birthday was this last weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a wheel-based affair, in keeping with
his unabashed love for all things rolling. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The oldest man in the room, my grandson’s great-grandfather,
sits at the kitchen table, unmoored in time, drifting among the years he spent
in the Navy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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“Where’s Pearl?” he suddenly exclaims. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember him taking The Boy and me to the Swedish
Institute when they had a Viking ship on display.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took us to lunch afterwards, and I ordered
the chicken breast in aspic, just to impress him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Aspic, for those not raised in the 18<sup>th</sup> century,
is a meat gelatin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You’re welcome.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I sit down opposite him at the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see that he doesn’t recognize me, and I
swallow hard.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We stare into each other’s eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly, he remembers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He leans across the table and pats my hand. “You’re
very pretty,” he says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He winks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I smile – he always told me I was pretty. I stand up,
walk to his side, but he’s gone, back to the early 1950s, when he is young and
strong and stationed in the Philippines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“It’s just beautiful, the water. Just look at it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I run a hand across his shoulders and head back to the
living room, where my grandson is spinning the wheels of his new tractor, and
my ribcage feels too small.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-41645056955664826532019-06-21T08:00:00.000-07:002019-08-07T11:30:06.340-07:00Stop, Feeth! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>There’ve been a rash of “theft from
car”s in my neighborhood lately, particularly ones in which the windows were not broken but the door simply opened.<br />
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NextDoor is abuzz with incredulity.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thefts!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From cars!<o:p></o:p></div>
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“They got my laptop, my wallet, and my good umbrella!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Someone took the jar of change I keep in the backseat.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And here it is where we stop – hammer time – and reflect
on all the things I will not say in response.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Things like:<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was the car locked?</div>
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And of course<o:p></o:p></div>
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They took your UMBRELLA?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s IT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m getting my conceal and carry!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not an idiot, according to my mother, and I don’t say
these things, because what do I know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People work late, they forget, and there’s always someone waiting to
take advantage of someone else’s lapse in judgement. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me, I drive my car maybe twice a month and
therefore keep very little in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the
other hand, as a bus-dweller, I am known to carry both a backpack and a bag I could
smuggle small dogs in, so again, what do I know?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Grandma went into town with a lipstick and car keys and did just fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We now carry things with us that cost hundreds of dollars.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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"I didn't know it was that kind of neighborhood," writes one young, newly disillusioned neighbor. "Guess I'll have to start locking my doors."</div>
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And I feel for her; not because she sees her neighborhood differently, but because she once believed she could leave a laptop in an unlocked car.</div>
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Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-26921202598203188292019-06-20T10:00:00.000-07:002019-06-20T13:08:05.261-07:00Who Do You Gotta Know to Get a Snack Around Here?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There are lemon bars in the work lunchroom, leftovers
from yesterday’s Birthday Celebration and Monthly Placation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We’re a cared-for little group, those of us at Acme
Grommets, Gravel and Industry (a world-wide Octopi).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the fall, there are apples every Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once a month there are “treats”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And almost quarterly someone from the mailroom
runs up and down the halls shouting “There are leftovers in the breakroom!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leftovers in the breakroom!” whereupon we lurch
from our desks and stampede toward free food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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You have to be fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some of the departments here are frighteningly young but many are on the plump
side. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disturbed middle-aged desk monkeys
such as myself use guile and experience to edge them out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find that cutting through the bathroom and throwing
elbows when necessary to be a winning strategy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Get away from that stale donut, you pup!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I’ve been working for an uncomfortably long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve gone from electric typewriters and, so
help me, carbon paper, to a docked laptop that I can take home with me, should the
urge to work come over me whilst cooking dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen dress codes move from panty hose
and enclosed-toed shoes to bare legs and flip flops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen numerous people changing their
pants in the obliviousness of their open-doored offices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I once knew a woman who kept a tiny TV hidden at her desk
and watched her “shows” during her lunch break in the bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The bathroom.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I said all that to say this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are lemon bars in the lunchroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my similarly experienced, randomly hungry coworkers,
we will meet in the bathroom immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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As in all things, get it while you can.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-52853685320462723632019-06-18T08:00:00.000-07:002019-06-18T08:00:00.524-07:00Just Shut Up and Ride<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Having been reminded this last weekend of physical frailties
in general, and the tensile strength of your average pair of capris specifically,
I lean against the back of the bus seat, willing myself to relax after a full day
of work. It is particularly after a good
stiff Monday that I find myself with the bearing of an irritable Theodore Roosevelt,
so I slump a little – just a little! – and think soft, abstract thoughts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The bus driver, a portly man looking suspiciously like a biker-ish version of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sebastian_Cabot_(actor)" target="_blank">Sebastian Cabot</a>, has the most elaborately macramé-ed earring I have ever seen.
A vivid blue, it dangles past his shoulder, swings as he turns his head to
check his mirrors. A tiny bell from the end of it rings as he calls out the stops.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
“Next stop, Spring Street.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I wonder about people, about the patches on their
jackets, about the tattoos on their arms, the memories and stories behind
them. There was a man on the bus last summer, a thin, rough-looking man, pocks
on his cheeks, his thinning hair pulled into a pony tail, the thighs of his
jeans wearing through over the pockets. Among the visible tattoos on his
arms was the head and upper torso of a smiling child with what appeared to be dates
inked in a filigreed scroll at his wrist. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The tattoo of the smiling child was too heart-breaking to
consider, and so I wrote it down, to consider it another time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I wonder, now, if the earring has that sort of
sentimental value. Did a permanently capitalized <i>She </i>from his past make it for him? Did he buy it at an art fair? Did he find it?<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We don’t know, do we?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And we won’t.
As they will not know about us.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-83922153693113784572019-06-17T08:00:00.000-07:002019-06-17T08:01:21.826-07:00Shake, Rattle, and WHO LEFT THIS HERE?!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I took a good hard fall Friday night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No,
there wasn’t drinking involved!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why
would you even say that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good point.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drinking
was not involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a clean fall, a
perfectly reasonable fall that included a sloping sidewalk, an armful of
recyclables, and a child’s bicycle that had <i>not</i> been there just 10
minutes before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Knees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Palms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ribs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ELBOW.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Much elbow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When given the option of not charging briskly into a
prone bicycle, my advice is to take it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Since then, of course, I’ve been listening to my body complain:
an exclamation from my back, a shout from wrist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even my eardrums, afraid of being left out,
have hollered once or twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve begun
imagining myself as a skeleton, clacking and jiving down the mean streets of
Minneapolis. There may be a jaunty hat involved, something I tip at all the
other skeletons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got an index
finger in the air, wagging it to an imaginary beat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Howdy-howdy, what’s buzzin’, cousin?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Not sure why, but my skeleton sounds like she’s from the
40s, a wise-crackin’ skeleton, see?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A killer-diller
dame with moxie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From one set of bones to another, Happy Monday.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-89729019589975334122019-06-13T08:00:00.000-07:002019-06-13T08:00:02.519-07:00But Sometimes it IS Cold<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It’s layoff season over here at Acme Shovels, Grommets,
and Rope (A Worldwide Octopi Corporation, Pty, LTD, M-O-U-S-E) and the bell?<br />
<br />
For whom does she toll?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The bell tolls for Jerry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A 26-year veteran of these carpeted halls, Jerry got the
ol’ corporate heave-ho yesterday. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I like Jerry. He
once walked blocks out of his way on a bitterly windy January night to ensure I got to the
bus stop free of the unwieldy encumbrances of the city, ie., panhandlers,
skeeves, and earnestly entitled executives.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He confesses that he has lost the ability to feel cold,
something I have never heard of.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What do you mean, you don’t feel the cold?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He shrugs. “I was
working in the barn one night –“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wait,” I say. “The
barn?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I have a place in South Dakota.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ah.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And it was, I don’t know, January? February?
Super cold. I mean, I knew it was
cold? But I wasn’t. I stood in the barn in just a tee shirt and
long pants and threw hay for a good two hours before I felt even remotely cold…” He trails off. “That can’t be right, can it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well,” I say, “you were doing physical labor.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No,” he says. “Come
on. Ten degrees. And that barn’s not heated.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We cross Marquette at the lights and I notice that while
it is probably 10 degrees right now, he’s not wearing a coat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We’ve been walking for several blocks, and he isn’t shivering. I reach out, pull a glove off, and lay my
hand on his bare arm. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Warm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There's a crowd as he leaves. It is no longer winter, and yet there's a nip in the air at the elevator banks. The same man who once called me "honey" in a meeting ("It's what I call my girlfriend. I'm so sorry! Please don't call HR!") waves good-bye. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
"I hope you feel cold some day!" I say.<br />
<br />
And the others in the office turn to stare.</div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-22985992095317620692019-06-12T10:00:00.000-07:002019-06-12T10:00:08.507-07:00I'm Maturing; or Hey! Pearl's Doin' Stuff!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>Now, normally I don’t believe in the
verbification of words (even writing that was painful); but having said that, I
have to admit: I am now adulting at an
unprecedented level.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Sorry.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I sometimes walk around my house, though, late at night –
putzing, we call it in the Great White North – shaking the cat dish into an
appearance of being full, randomly dusting small glass birdies, picking up something from one room and taking it to another – and I wonder: When did all
this happen?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To be honest, I had forgotten how much work it is to run
a life. I’d been married, you know, for
a good dozen years. Over that time,
chores peeled off, to me, to him, and pretty much stayed the purview of whoever
gravitated toward them. To that end, it
is safe to say that I had not taken out the garbage, filled my own gas tank, or
brought my own laundry up from the basement in that same amount of time. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And now? I've been forced to - ugh - <i>grow. </i>I mean, I must be seven feet tall by now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
Look at me! I’m picking up sticks in the yard. I’m schlepping laundry. For cryin’ out loud, people, I know when it's time to take out my recycling! <br />
<br />
Would you believe me when I tell you that I am the proud owner of a lawn mower, a weed whipper, and a snowblower. <br />
<br />
What's next? Lawn furniture? Card tables? RUBBER BOOTS?<br />
<br />
I tell ya; anything could happen.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-46490395039848048632019-06-11T08:10:00.000-07:002019-06-20T13:14:46.368-07:00Plumbin'; Or Jack the Dripper!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The house is old.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hey, I hate to say this,’ she says, “but there’s a bit
of water in the basement.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tenants upstairs
are leaving as I am coming home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There had been an absolute deluge the night before, and there’s
nothing like a 124-year-old house for water in the basement after a storm, so I
take the information with a grain of salt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pull out one of my earbuds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No worries,” I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll take a look.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well,” Susie worries, “I’ll be back in a couple hours if
you need any help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Help?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Have they seen me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I not give off an air of self-sufficiency?
Nay, of common sensical ability?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I jam my earbud back in, go directly to the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It is a reasonable basement, if not a bit dank at the
moment; and last year’s cobwebs, having been swept from the exposed ceiling,
have been replaced by new ones.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Two hours later, still in the clothes I wore to work, the
cement floor, while damp, is cleaner than it’s been since, oh, the last big
rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet – why is there still
water?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been listening to a podcast
about crime in Merry Old England, and I’m just coming to the realization that there
seems to be water leaking from under the washer when –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“PEARL!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And though in hindsight what I heard was most certainly “PEARL!”,
what I understand it to be at the moment is “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I leap into the air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kurt has come down the stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t you hear that?”<br />
<br />
I pull both earbuds out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t hear
anything,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m busy wet-vac-ing
all this water…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He makes a face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But
don’t you hear the water?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And then I do – the spray of water that has burst from a
hose behind the washing machine.<br />
<br />
“Well,” I laugh, “that explains why I can’t quite finish up!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I follow the pipes to the shut-off valves,
and the spray falls to a steady drip that no amount of tightening will help.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The plumbers have been called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am still alive.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-46038716799823325472019-06-06T08:18:00.001-07:002019-06-06T08:18:14.905-07:00Please Accept this Individually Packaged Coffee Creamer as a Token of my Esteem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I don’t want to get bogged down in the facts – <i>as one
does</i> – but I’ve been working for a little more than 100 years now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What? Sure I’m including the door-to-door selling of greetings
cards in second grade.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I’m also including the clarinet-polka stylings of my
misbegotten teenage years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As my father once confided to me over a can of Pabst
(his, not mine), “You work and you work and then you die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you writing this down?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was not - I was six, after all - but I recall the words as if spoken yesterday;
and I relay this to you now:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HELP ME.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Not big help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
pay-my-bills help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A joke, maybe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Netflix recommendation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because if there’s one thing I think we could
all use, every now and then, is a distraction.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My new boss has been wonderfully distracting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">We are in our honeymoon period, and I'm thinking of buying her flowers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Can I just tell you that I feel we could be friends outside
of work?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I grin at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And can
I just tell you that I feel that we <i>are </i>friends, inside of work?”<br />
<br />
She smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rochelle is attractive and
slim, a quick-witted chick. She stands. "I know this is our touchbase, but can I leave you here while I run to the bathroom? Sorry."</div>
<br />
"Of course," I say.<br /><br />She leaves. I rifle through her drawers, take out a credit card in her name, and send her husband a picture of my feet.<br />
<br />
"Sorry about that," she says. "I have no bladder."<br />
<br />
"Really?" I say. "None at all?"<br />
<br />
She sits down at her desk, frowns at her phone and puts it back in her purse. "Not really," she says. "I am just the peeing-ist person you'll ever meet."<br />
<br />
"We should do a Happy Hour," I say.<br /><br />"In the bathroom," she beams.<br />
<br />
We laugh; and for a moment, we're both distracted. <br />
<br /></div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-15783285714499102852019-06-05T10:00:00.000-07:002019-06-05T10:00:04.778-07:00Showdown at the OK-But-Can-Ya-Make-It-Happen Corral<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A slip of paper with what appears to be a prescription written
on it appears at my desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I need this meeting this week.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I slide the paper over and read:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>MTG next 48?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh no.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I look up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A meeting this
week?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the next two days?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I have a sudden view of the back of my own skull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We can try.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Who should be in it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Me, Lorena, Hein, and Christoph.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I squint, in that adorably astigmated way I have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lorena and Christoph are in Frankfurt.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But you don’t come in until 9:00,” I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s their 4:00." I wiggle my eyebrows. "In European, that's 1600.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And...”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Can you make it happen?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“My first thought, I say, smiling, “is that you make yourself
available earlier.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Nein.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I work late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need that time in the morning.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sighs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, I can look.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Clack clack clack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They do not have 1600 available either day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Can you ask them if they’ll stay late?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I set my elbow on my desk, set my chin in my hands. “Why would they want to stay late?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you can
ask them, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you
want to ask them?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sure,” I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can ask them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Work your magic, Pearl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really appreciate this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gives
me pistol-fingers as she backs away from my desk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Pew pew!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br /></div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-49998877135690702022017-06-20T09:00:00.000-07:002017-06-20T09:00:18.773-07:00Maybe I Should Reevaluate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am standing on Hennepin Avenue, waiting for a bus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hennepin, as you may recall, is the only street in the world where I have been mistaken for a prostitute.</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Twice.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today, however, I am not mistaken for a prostitute but an ATM.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Do you have any change?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I look at her. “Yes,” I deadpan.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Can I have some?"</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"No."</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She moves on to the next person. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By the time the bus arrives, I have been standing in the sun for a full 40 minutes -- which, by the way, is enough time to freckle yet retain office pallor. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is a good ten minutes into the ride that I realize that this is not my beautiful bus (with apologies to The Talking Heads). The funny thing is that, once you’ve boarded a bus, there’s no real way of knowing what bus you’re on. I mean, sure, you could ask someone, but where’s the sport?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Behind the bus driver is a wall of bus schedules. I’m on either the 18 or the 11. The 18 would’ve dropped me off a few blocks ago. The 11 takes me roughly 12 blocks from home.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eventually I de-bus and point my feet in the correct direction. Less than a block in front of me is a weathered man dressed for urban camping. He appears to be speaking into what may or may not be a walkie-talkie. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I reach him, I stop, look at what he's looking at. On the ground, lying in the grass and reaching for the hedge there is a white squirrel. He is perfect, no trauma, and yet he is dead. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He is never going to reach that hedge,” I say.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The man with the walkie talkie gives me a stern look. “But ya just gotta keep reaching, right?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-9d70516f-c31b-c498-95f9-2a2a103727f5"></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I walk home thinking about that.</span></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-41661643031526699962017-03-30T09:00:00.000-07:002017-03-30T09:02:29.560-07:00Oh, Just Shut Up and Lie Down Somewhere<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>I’ve been sitting here for, oh,
three days or so, breathing through my mouth and contemplating a future in voice-over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Surely everyone would be as amused as I with my
voice? Somewhere between the croak of a hungover
amphibian and the creak of a rusty hinge, I amuse myself intermittently with “Ave
Maria” and my impersonation of me, with a cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What’s that, Pearl?
You’d like some cough syrup? Ha
ha ha! You don’t have any!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Apparently Prior Pearl has failed Present Pearl in this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She will be spoken to.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Through the advances of technology, of course, I am no
longer just sick, but I am now Sick and Working From Home, or as we in the
business like to say, “Swiffing”. Working
in this state leads directly to emails that begin “Come in, Tokyo!” and end “Hugs
and Kisses, Pearl”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I may be exaggerating.
Or maybe not. I worked until
10:00 last night, and who knows what those last few emails said? Sure, I could check; but what’s the fun in
that? Better I wait for a response – or some
sort of communique from Human Resources. <i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the meantime, Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the
Humane Society Squeakers) is confused.
She crawls in and out of the backpack in which I brought the laptop
home, mews piteously at her food bowl (which is only three quarters of the way
full), walks from the couch to the dining room table back to the couch in hopes
that I will join her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Cats. What do they
know, huh?<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-76210139264717054032017-03-21T10:30:00.000-07:002017-03-21T10:30:21.075-07:00Nature’s Bounty; or What’s with the Discarded Hair Ties Everywhere?!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The streets are full of promise for those clever enough
to watch for it.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Take, for example, hair ties. Why, if a gal plays her cards right, she may
never buy an elastic hair tie again. And
as someone who regularly pulls her hair into a my-hair-turns-to-baling-twine-in-this-humidity
yoga braid – much like your common, everyday braid but with more sweat – I gotta
say, let the savings begin!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I mean, look around.
Bus stops, intersections, sidewalks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Who are these people?
Clearly they’re on their way somewhere.
Is that them, over there, the ones with the flowing locks? Is it those folks over there, the ones with
their hair in their faces?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Why do these people hate hair ties?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or perhaps, the hair ties are migrating. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Maybe they’re tired of that mop you call a
head of hair and have just quit, maybe thinking of going into a bit of light cinching. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perhaps, after a life of living in the cough-drop,
Kleenex, hand sanitizer confines of a purse they’ve finally absconded of their own accord.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Most of the time, I am alone when the ground ties make
themselves known to me. And I always
feel that the experience would be so much more enhanced – <i>if you can believe that! – </i>if there were someone with me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Look at that,” I’d say.
“Another free hair tie!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And then that person would shake their head sadly. “Oh, Pearl,” they’d say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And then I’d just tap the side of my nose and wink. Because I’m the one with the free hair ties.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-76408770420145450982017-03-17T07:30:00.000-07:002017-03-17T07:30:04.818-07:00A Morning on the Bus with My Peeps<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The woman on the bus is taking up some space. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She sits across the seats as if stretched out in the back
of my old Ford LTD. Her feet extend
into the aisle, and those of us boarding – a term also used in the air
transportation business, I believe – clear her boots gingerly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She is rough looking, perhaps she has slept outside. Her age is difficult to guess, her skin sun
damaged, her eyes hard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I grumble internally, briefly, as I ponder the
hubris. The bus is full, as I have taken
the second to the last seat. If anyone
wants to sit, they will have to ask her to move; and this being Minnesota, I’m
guessing only one out of 20 would.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We don’t like confrontation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But we will grumble to ourselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I judge her for a minute or two. In the end I decide that perhaps this is all
she has, the imperious demand for not one but two seats. She’s only going to pay for one, dagnabbit,
but she’s taking two.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I shrug, internally.
<i>So have two.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There is a clatter at the front of the bus, and I watch a
smiling, dimpled man in a suit, a recent immigrant from India, chase a water
bottle. For the next 30 seconds I watch
as the thermos rolls, just ahead of his outstretched hands. Out of his bag, it rolls under his seat,
across the aisle, under two more seats to where it finally rests next to the
duffel bag that Two Seats has on the floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He straightens up.
He smiles, says something I cannot hear and leans in to pick up the
bottle, whereupon he returns to his seat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And she smiles, slowly, pulls a phone out of her pocket
and begins texting.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com24United States45.336701909968127 -93.867187519.814667409968127 -135.1757815 70.858736409968131 -52.5585935tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-52107806805104972932017-03-14T08:49:00.000-07:002017-03-14T08:49:14.397-07:00Have You Seen the New TV Shows? Me, Neither.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 13px; line-height: normal;">I’ve been without cable for almost two years now. </span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br />
I have access to about 14 channels, depending, I swear, on the season. Whole channels disappear for months at a time. I will miss <a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/tv/news/mst3k-returns-joel-hodgson-on-resurrecting-the-cult-tv-show-20151222" target="_blank">Mystery Science Theatre</a> when the axis tilts, but if I have to flip by <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086734/" target="_blank">Hunter</a> again — <i>a renegade cop who breaks all the rules!</i> — I may be forced to do something radical, like starting another afghan or replacing the quarter-round in the living room.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
At my place, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rowan_%26_Martin's_Laugh-In" target="_blank">Laugh-In</a> is still playing (and John Wayne is dressed as a large blue bunny), the What’s My Line's panel is dressed in evening wear, there are three different weather channels, and I have the choice of four PBS channels (two if you expect them to have both audio and visual for the full show). </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
Then again that’s just the winter line-up. In the summer there is Celebrity Bowling, where you can watch <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roy_Rogers" target="_blank">Roy Rogers</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_Newhart" target="_blank">Bob Newhart</a> play against <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Dawson" target="_blank">Richard Dawson</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0225741/" target="_blank">Charles Dierkop</a>.</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Roy Rogers is a helluva bowler.</div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
It’s the 40s in my house. And the 50s, 60s, 70s, and 80s. </div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
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It’s so many decades but the current one.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I sometimes watch Let’s Make a Deal. Monty Hall gives out $10 apiece for bobby pins, and I clap when women pull them out of their purses. Women wave manicured hands along the lengths of Cadillacs, wearing pantyhose under their stylish 1970s swimsuits. Adorably self-conscious men and women blush when he asks their names, look to each other while deciding if they will go with what's behind Door A and Door B with a lack of guile now found only within dog parks. </div>
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<br /></div>
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On my TV, there is no plastic surgery. I watched Dick Cavett interview Shelley Winters the other day. She was plump and wrinkled, and apparently she had done her own hair. I almost wept with relief.<br />
<br />
Frankly, it’s starting to affect my life. I've taken up mending and sipping hot drinks from large cups. I'm thinking of smoking just so that I can do it from a cigarette holder. I'm wondering if a cocktail party would be out of order and if I could get a go-go dancer for it. <br />
<br />
I recently watched a game show where a contestant answered a question with “Carole Lombard!” and I, from my couch, Dolly Gee Squeakers (of the Humane Society Squeakers) at my elbow, shouted,”Good effort!” because, it was. It was a really good effort, but the answer, ladies and gentlemen, was, of course, Eva Gabor.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Eva Gabor.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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That cocktail party is looking better and better.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-33571204380143889432017-03-10T07:30:00.000-08:002017-03-10T07:30:11.933-08:00It Was Either That or A Tote Bag<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Every now and then, we here at Acme Gravel and Sprockets
take a quiet moment to reflect that, hey, there are worse jobs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Delivering food on roller skates, for example. Or crime-scene sanitation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or working where Margaret does.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t,” she says, “Tell anyone where this came from, but
this is a gen-u-wine email from our VP.
Oh, and don’t tell them I work at Global Stickers.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sure, I say. That’s
safe with me, Miss Margaret Olson, 5248 Lefse Boulevard.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Random Capitalization and Punctuation included for your
Pleasure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Team,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Recently I noted on
the company bulletin board that the TPS reduction goal for 2016 was met! This was a great accomplishment. We here at Global Stickers had committed to
providing a Pizza Party to the Company in the event we reached our Goal, and
since we did, Global Stickers is excited to be providing that Pizza Party. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Organizing the
Pizza's for your team will be the responsibility of the Manager and supervisor.
You will have this party on April 1. Two
pieces of pizza per person will be purchased.
Drinks will not be provided. Multiply
the number of people by 2 and divide by 8 to get the number of large Pizza's to
order. Pizza’s must be cheese,
pepperoni, or sausage. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>You may order from
anywhere in town as long as it is Domino’s, Costco, or Pizza Hut. No other’s allowed! I would order them in the
morning or even the day before to give them time to fill the order. I have a script if anyone need’s it.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>The supervisor or
manager should pay for the Pizza's and expect to be reimbursed. Write clearly, using black or blue ink. Be sure to include the name of your
department, if anyone took more than two pieces, and the exact start and end
time of your celebration. I will
review. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Thanks for the
determination you’ve shown this last year, and I look forward to posting this
coming year’s next initiative. Fingers
crossed for next year’s reward:
tee-shirt’s from last year’s Inventory Lock-In!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Best regards,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>Snidely W. Lash,
PhD, OCD, SOB<o:p></o:p></i></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-75186718252559434712017-03-09T07:30:00.000-08:002017-03-09T07:30:08.385-08:00Look at That!; or Would You Believe Me if I Said I Had Some Infrared Footage of a Mermaid? How About a Coupla Big Foots?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There are shows on cable, shows poorly shot, shows with
dramatic pauses and whispered hisses of “Did you <i>see</i> that?!” and “Shhhh! I
think I just heard something!”, shows where one “goes green” for night vision and
androgynously unwrinkled people just this side of fetus-dom -- and all, mysteriously, named “Devon” -- stare
wide-eyed into the camera while whispering “Oh Em Gee, you guys, this is
amazing!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
These shows are about “phenomenon”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The first thing to know is that nothing that they “discover”
rightfully evokes wide-eyed gazes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
None of it is amazing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No! No no no
no. It’ll be fun.” Kurt grabs a legal pad from the
Administrative Alcove. He is a planner
by profession, and there, in reaching distance – near the Spice Alcove but not
as far as the Emergency Candle Alcove – are the legal pads, pens, scissors, and
binder clips necessary for everyday administration.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He writes furiously, slides the pad to me. “Every time
someone says these things, you drink.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Go Green/Went Green<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Side by Side Comparison<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shh!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Look at that!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nighttime Investigation<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I narrow my eyes. “Whattaya, trying to kill me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This is a half-hour show with two “investigations”. In the first one – a 15-minute segment
dedicated to footage of a mist rising out of a swamp – there are six repetitions
of “Look at that!” and four of “nighttime investigation”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I was sipping water after the first four. “Seriously, Kurt, let’s just walk out of the kitchen
and into the night. First one to lose a
finger to frostbite wins.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kurt chooses to misunderstand. “That’s my girl!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The TV glows, and one of the Devons is almost dangerously
excited. “OMG! OMG!
You guys ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!
You gotta see this! It’s just a
common trick of the light! See? OMG you guys, it all lines up: the tree, the
phone line, the weight of an unladen swallow – see? In a side by side
comparison – after we went green? During the nighttime investigation? – it’s
identical to the original footage! You
guys! This is fantastic!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The other three hosts bounce up and down in excitement,
high-five each other in delight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kurt shakes his head, bemusedly. “Right, Pearl?” He grins at me. “Look at that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-32237081431885843142016-08-04T09:00:00.000-07:002016-08-04T09:00:26.932-07:00I'll Bet a Pencil Would Fit Nicely...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>Part of my descent into cranky
world-weariness involves the young man about to walk by me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He doesn’t know it – and probably wouldn’t care if he
did, him bein’ a young’un and all – but for the next couple of minutes, I am
holding him directly responsible for the battle I am engaged in, the battle
wherein I consciously work on <i>not
frowning</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
His pants, heavens above, his pants are buckled just
below his butt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Not a jaunty slip of the waist, not a ribald flash of
crack, but a full-on, you-don’t-know-me-I-wear-my-pants-the-way-I-want,
belt-cinched, thigh-hobbled, future-chiropractic-needing <i>middle-finger-by-way-of-trousers to every single person passing him on
the street – nay, every person in the world.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
OK. Maybe not
every person in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Whew. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
That descent happened so much faster than I expected it
would.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Mr. These Are My Underwear passes, a half-smoked cigarette
stuffed behind one ear, one hand holding a cell phone, the other holding up his
pants. The urge to trip him wells up in
me as I feel a crooked smile spread across my face.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hey,” I say, “Your pants are falling down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He doesn’t hear me but instead continues his way down the
street where he will no doubt meet up with others of a similar fashion
ilk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Good luck to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-83072924353697392812016-08-02T09:00:00.000-07:002016-08-02T09:00:36.256-07:00Come Here! No, Go Away! GAH<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The angst I feel at this time of my life is not
becoming. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I mean sure, it was cute when I was a teenager – even somewhat
adorable in my 20s! But firmly ensconced
in my 50s? Muddled, anxious, crabby,
lonely, and sweaty, maybe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Not becoming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I dislike my moodiness and have taken to faking
jocularity in public. <i>Hi!
How are you! Me? Oh, fine, fine. You know, it certainly is hot out! That’ll change soon enough, huh? OK – yeah, you, too! Talk to you later!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sigh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Truth be told, I sailed through my teens. Aside from being unreliable, contemptuous,
snide, disagreeable, and sneaky, I was not an entirely bad person, despite what
you may read in my yearbook.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And now, it’s all I can do to keep the scowl off my face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
How does this work now?
How do I go from loving the people around me to secretly wishing that
they’d, oh, you know, drop dead?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>I keed! I keed!
Please don’t drop dead!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Argh. I need
someone much, much larger than me to wrap me in a blanket, swaddle me tight,
and beam lovingly into my eyes until I fall asleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Followed by treats, words of praise, and a steak, medium-rare.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I am in the middle of writing this when I get a text from
a relative: I’m crabby and hormonal and
a complete monster. What do I do?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
What do you do? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Oh, honey. You sit
here next to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-4190585662687849972016-06-21T09:00:00.000-07:002016-06-21T12:16:47.128-07:00I've Gone Straight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I
recently started seeing a chiropractor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This,
after a lifetime of disparaging them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It
was a medical doctor who got me started.
“No matter what,” he said, “never let anyone “crack” your neck. It will paralyze you.” He tapped the x-ray of my neck, a crooked,
convoluted depiction of a Jenga tower, with the end of a pen liberated from a
Holiday Inn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Really?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Never see a chiropractor.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So I didn’t.
Because if there’s one thing that can be said of me, it’s that I’ll
listen when it’s convenient.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And so to compensate for the increasing instability of my
neck I took up yoga. And wearing one of those
bags of uncooked rice you heat up in the microwave. And purchasing pillows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And margaritas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And it all worked until the day it stopped working, the
day I couldn’t raise my left arm, couldn’t pull a shirt over my head, couldn’t
raise my own margarita glass.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hmm,” says the doctor.
“What pharmacy do you use?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And so I consulted with a professional, took out a small
loan; and am here, before you once again, as a woman with two sets of fully
functioning limbs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I go twice a week, where a small and intensely chatty
woman hooks me up to electricity and heat lamps. This is then followed by another woman – not as
small but just as chatty – who tells me to relax and then bends my spine to her
will.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I take back all the things I said about chiropractors.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1060614279393262320.post-49925793663535985432016-06-07T09:00:00.000-07:002016-06-07T09:00:46.250-07:00I Haven’t Always Been as Hot as I am Now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I regularly burst into flame.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Of course, you wouldn’t know it to look at me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Or maybe you would.
It’s hard to have one’s internal temperature moved to “Bake” – and
without permission! – and not give it away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Take, for instance, the flush of my downy pink
cheeks. There’s a giveaway. What once spoke of a day in the sun now
shouts of increasing distraction and the urge to get into some sort of
hollering match, preferably one in which I am absolutely in the right,
something that perhaps ends with a massage and offers of treats.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You can’t tell by looking at you,” he says, turning on
the fan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But it’s true,” I say.
“I’ve been set to Intermittent Broil.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He says these things, perhaps, because it’s in his best
interest. Or so I imagine. Frankly, while I like to envision myself as somewhat
formidable, I’m just not that scary. I
rarely shout, berate, or demand, in general; but I am beginning to see why some
women do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I see perimenopause as the reverse of puberty,” I tell a
friend. “Whatever your puberty was like,
it’s going to come up again.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She shakes her head.
“I’m gonna crawl out my bedroom window,” she says, “looking for parties.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Me,” I say, “I’m going to burst into tears.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She nods. “Probably
do that, too. Hey – can we write our
boyfriends’ names over and over on something?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Only if you call mine and ask him if he like-likes me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We are quiet for a moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You want to go to Dairy Queen?” she asks. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I rise. “Think
they will let me stand in the walk-in cooler?”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Pearlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05261369905176088917noreply@blogger.com37