Daily Lunch Bag - 9/22/2006

Since I have a real job now (thank you to everyone who supported and encouraged me during these trying times), I also now have real work and cannot, as I was wont to do, use up substantial amounts of time blogging on the employers clock. So, I shall cram everything I'm gathering into a Lunch bag, so to speak. And I realize you won't all take lunch at noon EST, but you can still appreciate the snack. Enjoy!


Extreme Ironing: Because ironing wasn't exciting enough... (thanks, mymo)










The many uses of Peroxide








And for dessert:

Cookies

Invisible Post

I thought I would post something invisible today, just for a lark. Obviously those of you who know to highlight a section of writing or copy/paste to another page or what have you, will figure out what this post says, but I'm hoping there will be an equal or greater number of people who will stare confounded at the page and wonder why I left a huge gaping hole on my website. "Why," they will ask, "would anyone leave a huge gaping hole on their website?" And they will scratch their heads and twist their earlobes in confusion and feel mildly alarmed at how much they actually care about whether or not there is a post here.

Helen brought over the robes this morning, all neatly ironed and ready to wear. She looked up at me as I slung a handful of hangers over my shoulder. "Ok, Baby. Who I give this to?" She held up a simple little bill for $450. "You give that to me, Helen. I'll take care of it." She hugged my hips (she's very short) and whimpered into my armpit, "I don't know what I do without these people near me here. Nobody else care, Baby." She then pulled herself up to her full five feet and no inches and said, "But I feel better today. Yes. I am better today. Each day a little better, Baby." She smiled up into my face and then turned her face away and said, "Oh, you too sweet, Baby. Go on!" And instead of me leaving, she walked out the door.

"All The Mens Are Stupid"

Helen’s shop is right behind the school. It’s down one of those alleys that boasts a constituency of prostitutes and johns ducking in and out at inopportune times. I always tread carefully when turning the corners. I take things to Helen to be hemmed, sewn, and cleaned. Her prices are cheap so I didn’t bother complaining when my winter coat comes back smelling like cigarettes. I don’t complain about Helen’s service, be it slow, inefficient or badly scented because Helen herself is a prize. She is Greek. Her hair is a curtain of black dye. Her glasses frame her drooping black eyes and she calls me "Baby."

I stopped in Friday to check on our Commencement regalia. We've sent her upwards of sixty gowns and hoods to be pressed by next week so I thought just stopping in to see how it was going wouldn't be a bad idea. Especially since it took her half an hour once to find two pairs of pants I came to pick up. She was at the counter. She smiled weakly and as she talked her eyes wandered and her dentures slipped up and down revealing a dark gum line. I finally asked, "Helen, how are you these days?" She took a deep breath, "My husband, he pass away last week." I dropped my jaw and said the appropriate "no!" I knew he was sick, but wasn't aware he'd died. "Oh, Helen!" I reached for her hands and she took mine. I stood at her counter as she let it all well up to the surface, "Fifty-two years I am married. Now he gone. He used to open garage door for my car, open the lights in the house for me, everything. Now there is nobody." Her chin trembled. "That's a lot to lose." I stood transfixed. Fifty-two years, you'd hardly know where you stopped and someone else started. After a minute she had regained her composure and turned over my hand in hers looking for a ring, "You married, Baby?" "No," I answered. "Das ok. There not many good mens around these days." I smiled, "so I've noticed." "Besides, Baby, all the men's are stupid. You think you find a man with sense, but he stupid too." I smirked in disbelief as Helen continued, "People say, 'you husband he a good man,' and I say, 'yes, but only because he married to me.' All the men's are stupid, Baby. The women are the better, smarter, stronger, everything. That is why it was two womens who go to tomb to make Jesus ready and everything." She patted my hand affectionately and smiled through her teary eyes. She had a point.

This morning I brought her a bouquet of flowers. Something fresh and bright. Something non-funereal. On the note I wrote, "In appreciation for everything you do and everything you are. -Sarah"
She was pleased, she hugged me, patted my backside and then shooed me back out the door past the prostitutes.