Or a worry.
Or, perhaps, good advice. I'm not adverse to hearing good advice and neither should you be, but still, it's a bit like someone else looking at your plate and thinking "perhaps he'd be healthier with a bit more kale instead of cake".
Says you, lady.
Still, you know they're probably right - providing you aren't hit and killed in the near future by a city bus or falling space debris or the angry fist of a Leukemia Devil in which case you really should have had another drink. However well-meaning, corrective, marmish advice has a sour, gritty bite to it. Like steamed kale in clam water.
So a very good friend says this: Why don't you, you know, blog? Me? Whatever for? And who would read it?
I would.
And then this nudge from "The Poison Pen", the Sisters in Crime newsletter:
...are now discussing blogs and Web pages. Most agree an author needs one or the other to get noticed or when asking for representation from an agent. Some say their blog or Web site brought an agent to them...
Hm. Alright then. Worth a try, anyway.
It's a bit empty, like a newly rented terrace house (but without the ghosts of dead servants and that vague cooked cabbage odor), but that'll fix. With time and a bit of typing.
Today's curiosity: I found a dollar in my pocket this morning, folded over and tucked inside a few other bills. Change from a $20 spent on yesterday's lunch at a burger joint. My wife, off to a movie with her co-worker, asked if I had any loot and discovered that one of the dollars, a limpid thing worn elderly by thousands of whispery fingertips, was covered with writing. Well, the back, anyway.
Around the green plate engraving on the reverse of the $1 was written, in creakily printed blue ballpoint pen, the following:
San Jodas tadeo, la Persona que reciba esta billete y escriba lo mismo en 12 billetes nunca le fultara la Salud, el dinero y la prosperidad.
At least that's what I think it says. Babel Fish (my own Spanish is of the 'mi casa no es rojo, Miguel' variety) translates this as:
San tadeo Jodas, the Person who receives this ticket and the same writes in 12 tickets never him fultara the Health, the money and the prosperity. |
You have to wonder about people who take the time to carefully sit inscribing prosperity prayers around the borders of paper money only to release them back into the wild.
Was it a whim? Or a worry?
Or was it advice?
2 comments:
Well.
Obviously it was a Message emanating from the Jungian Vorpass.
The postal authority deals almost exclusively in envelopes. The Jungian Vorpass on the other hand is appropriate for other, messier types of information -- in this case someone has obviously sent a blessing, inscribed with care on specially oiled green muslin, which as you know is anointed with attentive gammastuff emanating from literally billions of riveted minds.
A dollar bill, come to think of it, is quite an envelope. It contains multitudes, really.
A powerful blessing, then.
:). What could be better?
~a
mazel tov :)
Apparently money is not an uncommon medium when it comes to commentary and prayer. A quick search around the net reveals a site devoted to photos of Things Written On Money.
Lotto numbers, Bush graffiti and that guy you met at the mall who said he knew your cousin in high school seem to me to be most common.
I get it. It's any old paper port in a storm but still, someone worked very hard to make your currency look spiffy and official.
We'll call her Mrs. Eitleson.
Who, after 42 years at the Treasury Department is retiring with her husband, Steve, to a condo in Rosarita Beach. She adores Julie Garwood novels, sweet pickle and tuna salad sandwiches and has a single crooked upper left canine.
Mrs. E, as she's known down in Department 37 [Fiber Quality Assurance], once sang high C soprano at St. Brigid's as a youngster and nearly won a voice scholarship to Oberlin College but developed benign larynx nodules at 17 that, once removed, lowered her pitch to the point where acquaintences - especially that vicious gossip Muleva Nixon over at the LOC - who did not know her well privately wondered whether or not she might have once done hard time in some smoky Turkish dope prison.
Let's not let them win, shall we?
Mrs. E deserves better.
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