I used to live inside a Talbott’s catalogue. Youngest on my block by about 30 years. Was very good for the ego. Sidewalks jammed with traffic bustling to the local Ralph’s, where carts were always put back in place. Store windows hadn’t changed since 1979. Mannequin’s wearing Lans of Landsburg nightgowns, making those in Handmaid’s Tale seem risque. The local bar scene was a glass of Ernest and Gallo with a tuna melt for last call at 6:00pm and a big night out was then going to $2 Thursdays, at the discount theater down the street. For 3 years they played one movie: Back to the Future. Folks thought was a documentary.
Even though it was a bit boring at times, there was never a shortage of comedy around me all the time. And finding the funny was abundant. There was something about living in a smaller area, that lessened my anxiety, so all in all, it was a good move. Walking Luna for blocks without stepping over needless, bottles, or lost dreams, felt safer.
A trip to the local Rite Aid was sometimes a treat. Going in for my prescription and walking out with lawn furniture, new slippers, hoop earrings, 3 issues of Home and Gardens, a cross word puzzle, mounds bar, flip flops, and a Thrifty cone of strawberry. But my favorite part, was looking in the card section. I used to dread it, finding that right card. Is it funny enough? Or serious enough? Or sentimental enough? Depending on the occasion and who you were buying it for, was hard enough. But to then find the correct slot to put them all back? Nearly impossible.
I’ve always thought blank cards were the best. That way you could write what you wanted inside. But the outside image had to be just right or else Angie Anxiety (the worry wort in my head) would chime in: “Oh god, does this seem too impersonal”? “Wow, a blank card, that says alot!” Did it seem like I just grabbed a blank one like that extra wrapped candle kept in the lazy drawer? After many Angie chats, here’s what I concluded. If you are getting your ex a birthday card, stay away from the nature cards. It’s too obvious you are missing them, and trying too hard. If you choose the card with a picture of a rainbow over a wheat field? Pathetic, and obvious you’ve been doing nothing but binging Netflix gorging on a party size bag of Doritos and washing it down with Rose. If you choose the card with a picture of a rainfall in Hawaii? He knows you’ve stalked his Insta page to know he went there three years ago. If you choose the picture with the tree frog outside in the dewey rain? Stop now. You’re the frog, and the rain your tears. But if you pick the puppy and kitty with fire department helmets on? You need an in person coaching, immediately.
My father had a real knack for finding the perfect card. And on birthdays, there was never one but three. Each to discover a maze with his inscribed riddle, or sentiment in his beautiful penmanship. Every year, I looked forward to his cards often pictures of beautiful animals: The panda bear, ducks, koala bears, penguins, turtles, giraffes, and although I’d never gone on a safari, herds came by way of post.
In the recent years, cards became less easy to read. The flow of my father’s beautiful cursive, seemed to read with potholes and rougher conditions than the flawless, smooth, turn of each stroke. It was clear to me, the challenge to write superseded the messages inside, and the lack of receiving them, his years growing older. I used to want to find the perfect card for him. And because he was so intelligent, would chuckle wondering if I’d get it back with red ink marks and a grade. He wasn’t a fan of the marshmallow land of Hallmark holidays. This was the first since he’s been gone. The blank section during holidays, can feel just that. But remember to find the funny along the way, and memories will always fill each one.