metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A box, a book and a duck The box with my brother�s belongings arrived yesterday. It is sitting on my kitchen table. I have not opened it. It sits there, waiting patiently for me to open it. But, I could not open it last night. It said good morning to me when I walked in to get my coffee, and it will probably say welcome home when I come home tonight. I don�t know when I will open it. I know I will, but I don�t know when. Am I waiting for the �right� time? Will there ever be a right time to open that box, and see what my sister in law has sent as a keepsake in my brother�s memory? I know I will resign myself to opening the damn thing. But until then, it will have to sit on the table. The box with my brother�s stuff inside, waiting for me to open it and feel the loss, feel the grief - again. To re-grieve. I know that is not a word, but it should be - but, then again, maybe not. Grief is a process and these waves of sadness are just part of the process. Maybe I will grieve the entire rest of my life. I don�t know. The box is still there. This diary is good for a number of reasons, but one I did not anticipate was my becoming more aware of my life. Sounds funny, but I am paying more attention to the small details of my every day. Now I make a conscious effort to notice things, so I can make a more detailed and thoughtful entry. This is a good thing because it is forcing me to be more of a participant in my own life, instead of feeling like a spectator. On the other hand confronting nasty personal truths is a real pain in the ass, although I�m sure I�ll be a better person for it (blah, blah, blah - whatever). I have lost a library book. I have NEVER lost a library book, but this one is just gone, gone, gone. I feel like it was abducted by aliens or something. I remember it being on the kitchen table (right where the box is sitting) last weekend. I was planning to return it this week. That is all I remember. Now I cannot find it ANY WHERE. I have looked EVERY WHERE. It is NO WHERE. K says it will turn up. Bah! I have looked everywhere, dammit, how will it turn up? My pastor showed up on Sunday afternoon and stayed for 2 � hours! (that�s another entry sometime) maybe he stole my library book, or his wife did. One of them took my book. I swear it was there and now it isn�t and my house is messed up, sure, but not that messed up that I can�t find a fucking library book. So I went to the library today to confess that I lost their book. I had visions of the librarian chastising me for not being careful with things I borrow. Beads of sweat were forming on my upper lip as I waited in line at the front desk of the library. I glanced over and saw a sign stating that there was a $500 fine or something like that for stealing library property, but I DIDN�T STEAL IT!!! It�s really gone, I lost it, I don�t have it. Really! Gah! I was totally nervous now because I couldn�t read all the Evil Thief Notice because it was in little writing and now it was my turn. The young girl was so pleasant and after I confessed she said, �I�m sure it will turn up, why don�t you just RENEW it?� OF COURSE! I could renew it. Then I would have two more weeks to worry about it and scrounge around and remove the couch cushions for the 1,000th time to look for it. Yes! Give me two more weeks that way I won�t have a moment of peace as I look under the bed again and look in my black purse I haven�t used in 6 months. So, I renewed it, because - hey - K and the little library girl think "it�ll turn up" so - fuck it. When I was a teenager, my mother befriended our next-door neighbors - Don and Lorraine. Don was a big nice guy with white hair and Lorraine was a very nice lady with brownish hair done in an �up-do�. You know where all the hair is sticking straight up, even back part and it is sprayed and �ratted� and just defies gravity? I do not believe I ever saw these people sober. EVER. Lorraine was usually more fucked up than Don, but they were both half in the bag all the time. So when my mom went over to visit them, I knew she was going to get blasted, too. But that�s not why I bring them up. I remembered Don and Lorraine because I stubbed my toe on my desk this morning and let out my favorite epithet - Fuck a duck, Lorraine. Fuck a duck. See, one evening my bedroom window was open and I was just doing my homework, like a good teen (not really - I don�t know what I was doing, but I am positive it wasn�t homework) when all of a sudden I hear yelling and counter-yelling coming from next door! Don and Lorraine were arguing and going at it pretty good. Finally, in a drunken, exasperated tone, Don says, �Oh - fuck a duck Lorraine. Just fuck a duck.� Then he slammed the back door and I don�t know what happened after that because I was ROFLMAO. I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard, and immediately added it to my vocabulary. So now, 35 years later, I still remember and use the handy, dandy phrase, �Fuck a duck, Lorraine.� And I have to say the Lorraine part, because it just wouldn�t sound right without it. Call it an �homage� to Don and Lorraine. Fuck a duck, Lorraine. 4:31 p.m. - 2003-05-09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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