Sunday, November 7, 2010
Life is an Invitation.
My Great Grandfather used to always say "Life is an invitation." At least that is what we thought he was saying ... he never wore his false teeth .. looking back he may have been saying "Wife, you have limitations," cause he told us once he saw dead people but at the time I thought he was saying "life is an invitation."
So I never took no for an answer .. I still don't ....but I have learned to at least sympathize with the wishes of others. I remember the one time I didn't make the school newspaper and I thought they were wrong. So I just showed up every day and sat at the desk I made out of cardboard boxes, and the cardboard chair I taped together with my cardboard typewriter with the little hole punched cardboard circles I made and wrote every letter on and glued into place. My desk was right next to my cardboard filing cabinet and my paper mache' phone, photo copierm and fax machine with the paper mache' water cooler off to one side. I was just outside the door of the newspaper and every day when no-one was looking I would yawn and stretch my arms out and scoot my chair just a little bit closer to the editors desk. For weeks I was in the doorway and people had to climb over me to get in ... and still no-one noticed me.
But I never gave up ... and I inched closer and closer until I was sitting right next to the editors desk, smiling, waiting, pencils sharpened ... Finally one day he turned to me and said .. Blissy ... I have something only you can cover ,.. are you game? I nodded and stood up, pencil poised .. ready to go ....
It turned out a water pipe had burst in the basement. I was the only one he trusted to cover it .... . I stood at the top of the stairs gulping nervously as I peered into the dark, and my editor, being strong and editorial, did me the biggest favour ever .. he gave me a little push and closed the door behind me. He knew I needed that little bit of encouragement.
I was in that basement for three days trying to hold hold the duct tape on the pipe with one hand and scooping water with my paper cup with the other. I saved the school. That is what good reporters do, they sacrifice themselves. It was not just a first assignment .. it was a gift ... a gift that said to me .. YOU are a journalist .... YOU are the best water scooper this shool has.
When someone finally found me, (they said no one heard me cause the door was hidden behind a bunch of cardboard and paper mache that had been brutally kicked and stomped on ...) they said .. "boy are you an idiot falling for that .."
I cried for a week. The security guard at the door of the school newspaper had instructions to used whatever bodily force necessary should I come within 25 yards of the door. I never got to file that first story .. ever.
No this does not have a happy ending .. cause that is the way of a journalist.
Life is a bitch.
But the next year, grade two ... I got to sharpen pencils for the golf team.
SUIT: G Sloane Couture
SCARF: Tres Beau