Dancing, Painting, Literature, and the Arts
It's funny how things happen, and you never really notice them. Like the Paris box. Why does the Denver DLO even have a Paris box? How many items intended for Denver mis-directed from Paris anyway? What is up with that? Regardless of the need (or lack thereof) for a Paris box, how is it that today was the first day I really noticed how much time Oliver spends looking in that thing? Norman says he has been checking it for a year. A year? Seriously? Oliver whoever came up with that dreadful greeting card quote, 'If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours, if it doesn't it never was' was talking to you!
Sometimes, I really want to grab Oliver by the sharp lapels of his well-tailored suit and shake him back to life. Metaphorically, I attempted (and failed) that this morning. I acknowledge that the song was a bad choice, but I felt I had to do something. I didn't actually think he would buy it (and in fact it is just the groundwork for the music I really want to use), but he just seemed so lost after looking in that box for the three hundredth time, hence the song. Anyway, that dirge that Oliver thinks we are dancing to is seriously worse. Or is that the dirge to which he thinks we will be dancing? Whatever, it served its purpose. Oliver forgot about the Paris box (admittedly for probably only a nanosecond) and let himself have a little fun, even if he thought it was at my expense. I expressed to our serious supervisor that I thought perhaps it was my express purpose to move him into the current century, at which he quipped that it was too late to begin a discussion of manifest destinies. Funny O'Toole!
So… I have a confession. I have read Rita's book. I may have done a little speed reading, but on the whole, I have read it. Cora did make me curious, but also, I thought reading it might have been something a supportive friend would do? Yeh, I know, I am new to this friend thing. And how could I prod Norman and maybe gently stir Rita without knowing the material? Norman has not got a clue! Rita has it bad.
Norman, our conveyor-climbing mail recovery specialist, presented us with our current postal puzzle. A torn, brown paper-covered box that had no discernible address with a letter peaking from its wrapping. This letter is a tough one. I am doing better with my matching set of luggage that is my pain over my father, but still, this is hard. I get the feeling that there is something I don't know about Oliver (so many things, let's be serious) as this one seems to be getting to him too. What did he mean, 'The saddest words are those left unspoken'? Was he talking about me and Dad, or about him… and his wife?
Norman was also instrumental in tracking down the addressee of this letter and package. Henry Barrett, father of Danny is another lost soul. He didn't want the package and told us to throw it in the trash. He just seemed like a wounded dog, snarling because he was frightened of being hurt again. Hmm, someone else I know sometimes behaves like that.
I don't think I can let this one go. Maybe it is time to put that art history degree to good use and do a little research the New York art scene and Danny Barrett in particular. Pretty sure I won't be sleeping tonight.
But a small side-track for dance-class is in order. Oh boy! Things certainly got a little more fascinating in that department. But before I get to that, I have to meander down a small tangent. I wonder why Oliver booked a private dance class? Was he embarrassed to be seen dancing with me? Did he think I was that bad? Did he know how uncomfortable I was dancing with everyone else there? Regardless, our dance class was interesting to say the least.
Enter Ramon Rodríguez. Apparently Madame Francesca, a.k.a Fancy Francie, played a little fast and loose with her dance studio and lost it in a poker game! Ramon Rodríguez was the winner of said studio, and what a breath of fresh air he is. Ramon is very good looking and is charm and charisma on speed-dial! Not being able to say Oliver's name was too good! Not only did he earn an Oliver hop, but I think he also got an Oliver squint too. L M Montgommery wrote about 'kindred spirits'. Ramon instantly seemed like one of those. Maybe it was him saying to Oliver, 'Head erect, arms erect and everything erect' that sealed the deal, but whatever, I think I am going to like this guy!
Before I finish for the night, can I pause for a moment and celebrate the wonder that is Cora Brandt? I almost hugged the woman when she dared to tell Oliver to, 'Go away and hurry.' I think I shall sell this as a bumper sticker on Etsy. Cora is still captivated by Rita's book, and Rita is beginning to unravel. She is peaking, worrying that Norman might spot her thinly veiled autobiography, or more importantly his place in her thinly veiled autobiography. Cora told Norman to 'Wake up and smell the Yoo-Hoo', but as a sticker that is a bit more niche.