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2001-03-09 || 3:07pm || 3358 || to the present occupants of 3358 24th street: have you seen my lucky spoon? it is a teaspoon with a black cable design on its long slender handle. it is magical to me. it is excellent for eating pudding and stirring alcoholic concoctions prepared in tall glasses. i made a missing poster and stapled it above the kitchen sink when i first came to the conclusion that it was terribly horribly lost. it showed up under luke's bed but went missing again shortly thereafter. it is a fiesty spoon. the poster was taken down some time ago but one of the staples tacking down its construction paper corner remains. i bought the couch bed that is in the master bedroom at the thrift town on 17th for $50.00. it is beautiful, isn't it? a man from thrift town with tired calloused hands hoisted it into the bed of joshy's borrowed pick-up truck. we pulled up in front of the house, got out of the car, looked at the couch, looked at the steps leading to the door of our flat, imagined the steps up to the second floor, the sharp 80-degree angle to our bedroom, the narrow victorian doorway, and shook our heads. we pulled the couch on to the sidewalk and sat on it, devising a plan. a mexican man with the most impressive mullet i have ever seen offered to help us carry it up the stairs. he pulled it up almost singlehandedly, with michael sweating behind him, muttering 'left' and 'right' and 'are you okay' at regular intervals. i offered him water and pepsi and money and he smiled and waved and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. he flew down the stairs and we lost him (he is my angel with a mullet. my patron saint of the mission.). many people have slept on that bed. it is haunted with straight edge sweat and sex, my sister's laundry detergent smell, cat urine. and that is only from our incarnation. that smell in the bathroom is the smell of pure unadulterated boy. i tried to wash it away many times, late at night in my pajamas while the boys watched videos or played keyboards in luke's room, but it wouldn't go away. the pee on the floor congealed around the toilet wasn't so hard to clean away, or the pee on the walls from parties past. it's the smell. after having moved out the smell comforts me, is full of memories, ranks with the smell of grandmotherly perfume and cut grass. luke threw his bedroom door out of that window. that is why the latch won't close properly. two-hundred twenty-seven generations of pigeons have lived on that window sill. they have a right to it so don't flick your cigarette butts at them. i wrote my name right here, next to the hallway light switch. it's been rubbed away but if you look really hard you can make out the j. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |