Author's Note:
The timing of things here gave me pause. When Oliver invites Shane on another date, he suggests next Saturday. But the drama with Dudley could have finished any time after Tuesday really – which would have made that next Saturday in fact this Saturday. Aah! Look, I don't really know, but I think that it would give events a bit more room to push the supposed date to two Saturdays later. Which gives Shane (and Oliver probably) lots of time for thinking.
Dear Diary,
I am now an enthusiastic gardener! It is amazing how much one little twig can impact your life. Ever since signs of life were observed on my yellow rose, I have become Denver's leading rose (or more specifically, yellow rose) expert. I am planning to write my thesis on the use of kitchen items as rose fertilizer. I know the impact of coffee grounds on the surrounding soil, the use of banana skins and eggshells as soil improvers, and the place of tea leaves and Epsom salts in the diet of a healthy plant. I think I may be putting a little too much pressure on this little plant. I am sure that a therapist might make the observation that I am using the plant as a stand-in for my hoped-for relationship with Oliver. I have a feeling that they may not be wrong.
I may also have spent far too much of my weekend looking for possible date attire at my favourite online boutiques, as well as watching and practising so many You Tube updo tutorials that if the USPS doesn't work out, I could set up as a hair stylist!
It's funny where your mind takes itself. I have been honest enough with myself to admit to feelings for Oliver for quite some time. Yes, I know Diary, you and I both agree that that is a somewhat anaemic description. Moving on. Spending so much time online this past weekend gave me pause. Oliver, the lovable luddite, would have a conniption. Who am I kidding, Oliver would probably object to the term luddite and then treat me to a history lecture on the history of the industrial revolution with particular reference to machine breaking in the north of England, outlining the error in applying the term to those opposed to technology, as the original luddites where not opposed to the machines, but rather the unfair industrial practices that were being employed against workers. Yes, I have given this too much thought!
Thankfully, Becky provided a welcome distraction. Somewhat welcome? Not universally welcome distraction?
It all started from one of those innocuous email reports, a short missive designed to let Becky know what the DLO Taskforce was up to. I outlined our little escapade, where we saved not only a truck full of mail, but also the reputation of Lester Kimsickle, but more importantly, Dudley Curley. That was all it took – Becky was off!
Once Becky heard about the O'Toole tradition of winning 'Dark of Night' awards, she set an avalanche in motion that caused a film crew to arrive in Denver, ready to record a commercial featuring both Joe and Oliver. You have to hand it to Becky, once she gets an idea in her head, she certainly can make it reality very quickly.
The timeline was tight! Five days lapsed between email and completion, and two of those days were the weekend. Joe was pretty quick to agree, but Oliver was not particularly keen. In fact, once I read Becky's email outlining the project to Oliver, he directed me to send a politely worded rejection. I was pretty unhappy that instead of sending another email, Becky called Oliver directly. Bad form girlfriend, cutting me out of the loop! Anyway, I don't know what Becky said to get him to capitulate – and believe me I tried to overhear – but she must have wheeled out the big guns. Although it required both Yoo-Hoo and bouncing, Oliver agreed to make a commercial! He was adorably panicky! Joe took it all in his stride, and while Oliver was fabulous, his nervousness was the cutest thing. (It would be gushy to say that he looked so cute that I am sure he could sell me anything… Yep. Too gushy. Stop it, Shane.)
Just as the filming concluded, a heavy blow was dealt the Denver Main Branch – we learnt that Eleanor, the doyen of passports, passed. I know that Oliver was pretty close to Eleanor. She seemed to be the den mother for the whole building, but she and Oliver seemed exceptionally close. I worry that losing someone else at the moment might be too much. I hope I can get him to talk about it, rather than holding it in as he usually does.
I admit, Eleanor's death shook me up too. It's funny, but you always think that you have time. Why did I not learn this lesson from my fractured relationship with my Dad? You never know how long you have with someone. Even though intellectually I understood that, I still didn't take every chance I had to build a relationship with Eleanor. She was one of those remarkable people who could make everyone feel comfortable. I met her, and instantly felt I had known her for years. She was a kindred spirit, a joyous spark that made everyone else feel better, simply from being in her presence. She embraced my obsession with discovering flavours of kombucha. Why didn't I take a trip to her office more often? I worry that I was too selfish, too self-absorbed. I worry that I have lost something precious in her.
I mustn't make that mistake with Joe. He is another kindred spirit (and I am not just saying that because he is Oliver's Dad). He may not have been in Oliver's life for a while, but he certainly knows his son – and how to give him the push of encouragement that he sometimes needs. Obviously, I want to get to know Joe better because I think he is an awesome person – but I think I might pick up some Oliver wrangling techniques if I hang around him. Does that sound brazenly manipulative? It may have been mentioned before!
And then, a problematic dead letter fell in our metaphoric laps. Someone called Sandy needs our help, and it doesn't seem as if she has much time. If we ever needed Oliver's divine delivery theory to be true, I think this is it.
P.S. Wanting to balloon over Stockholm is not out-there as far as ambitions go.
P.P.S. Having a list of buckets is weirder than wanting to take a ride in a balloon, Norman.
P.P.P.S. Oliver knows Dale's number by heart. Oliver is going to visit her tomorrow. I may not be riding in a balloon, but sometimes I think that I am on a rollercoaster.
P.P.P.P.S. I went home and had a kombucha for Eleanor. I put on one of my saddest playlists. Tonight, Coldplay really hit me. 'In a sky full of stars' Eleanor, while sitting on my porch swing, I did wonder if I saw you. Vale, friend.