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abilouiseis having free time enough to stay up rilly late and do something really inefficient with one's time. This is the appeal of knitting for me (I could buy the $!#*ing scarf or sweater for way less at how much an hour of my time doing repetitive hand motion costs on the open market these days) but it is also the appeal of what I did tonight, which is to go through my giant boot-box full of stationery and greeting cards and match envelopes with cards until 3 A.M.
Most of you probably don't have boot-boxes full of stationery and greeting cards. Or maybe you do, in which case I feel better. I have the dangerous and post-apocalyptic-seeming tendency to not want to waste anything, and my grandparents all were incredible (in some cases truly truly pathological) pack-rats. Going through the literally piled-to-the-ceiling garage of my LI grandparents' condo's garage (which was hilarious. You open the door from the apartment and there's this wall of Stuff. It was like a George Booth cartoon only sad.) I found greeting cards with like, impressionist prints from B'nai B'rith and any other non-profit that anyone had ever given money to, stationery taken from European hotels they had stayed at in the 60s, and a few sheets of very pale pink engraved stuff that was my mom's when she still lived at home, and a few extremely 60s glittery christmas cards (yes they were Jews). The other grandparents' house (in a swanky Chicago suburb) was filled with more funky or animal-themed stuff. Birthday cards with marabou trim, ASPCA and World Wildlife Federation cards with endangered animals on them, American Indian artist cards picked up in South Dakota. They all smell a bit musty, but I love them, and I love how I feel compelled to hand-write letters and cards to people instead of emailing them. Also in the box are thank you notes left over from our wedding and this anthropomorphized anglo mouse set of cards and envelopes, which is the exact sort of thing I seriously dug when I was about 6-8 years old, and a pack of christmas cards that my best friend gave me as a christmas present when we were 11 and a set of super-nice paper that Gabe bought me in the Czech Republic that's all womon-y. There's some other stuff in there too, obviously, including a now-extremely precious Someday Cafe promotional postcard. I have this dream that someday I will use up all this paper (not the Someday card) and then go out and buy stuff that I completely love and that has exactly the right number of envelopes to cards and where I won't feel like I need to apologize for the dorkiness/mustiness of the card that I am sending to some awesome friend. I imagine this day as one where it feels like a great weight has been lifted and everything is clean and new and exciting and my awesome taste is revealed to all who know and love me. I now suspect that day will feel slightly empty.
This story has 2 morals for those of you still reading:
1. Abi is hopelessly sentimental about inanimate objects, especially ones that give her clues about her somewhat mysterious family.
2. If you need envelopes in any size, I am totally your girl. Lemme know and I will hook you up.
Most of you probably don't have boot-boxes full of stationery and greeting cards. Or maybe you do, in which case I feel better. I have the dangerous and post-apocalyptic-seeming tendency to not want to waste anything, and my grandparents all were incredible (in some cases truly truly pathological) pack-rats. Going through the literally piled-to-the-ceiling garage of my LI grandparents' condo's garage (which was hilarious. You open the door from the apartment and there's this wall of Stuff. It was like a George Booth cartoon only sad.) I found greeting cards with like, impressionist prints from B'nai B'rith and any other non-profit that anyone had ever given money to, stationery taken from European hotels they had stayed at in the 60s, and a few sheets of very pale pink engraved stuff that was my mom's when she still lived at home, and a few extremely 60s glittery christmas cards (yes they were Jews). The other grandparents' house (in a swanky Chicago suburb) was filled with more funky or animal-themed stuff. Birthday cards with marabou trim, ASPCA and World Wildlife Federation cards with endangered animals on them, American Indian artist cards picked up in South Dakota. They all smell a bit musty, but I love them, and I love how I feel compelled to hand-write letters and cards to people instead of emailing them. Also in the box are thank you notes left over from our wedding and this anthropomorphized anglo mouse set of cards and envelopes, which is the exact sort of thing I seriously dug when I was about 6-8 years old, and a pack of christmas cards that my best friend gave me as a christmas present when we were 11 and a set of super-nice paper that Gabe bought me in the Czech Republic that's all womon-y. There's some other stuff in there too, obviously, including a now-extremely precious Someday Cafe promotional postcard. I have this dream that someday I will use up all this paper (not the Someday card) and then go out and buy stuff that I completely love and that has exactly the right number of envelopes to cards and where I won't feel like I need to apologize for the dorkiness/mustiness of the card that I am sending to some awesome friend. I imagine this day as one where it feels like a great weight has been lifted and everything is clean and new and exciting and my awesome taste is revealed to all who know and love me. I now suspect that day will feel slightly empty.
This story has 2 morals for those of you still reading:
1. Abi is hopelessly sentimental about inanimate objects, especially ones that give her clues about her somewhat mysterious family.
2. If you need envelopes in any size, I am totally your girl. Lemme know and I will hook you up.