A sigh is still a sigh. The fundamental things apply. . . .
The past few days I’ve felt like a small monkey on a big leash, lurching in the direction of the greatest tension to lessen it, but engaging not a soul in conversation. I’ve not engaged any part of my life enthusiastically since the Tom Friedman posting ran up the blog pole. Thursday the circumstance changed for a few minutes, providing passing hope like a fountain in the desert and then disappearing into the blazing tableau of sand and bones.
Putting off (again) an aviation history research commitment to a correspondent in Australia, I was filing some things recently relocated from basement to less-humid office central. I had been tossing down the Folger’s Instant more frequently, hoping like the Tin Man that a magic elixir could infuse me with something lacking. I had just put the hot water pan onto the stove and returned to some scissor work, separating clippings into neat piles, when a call came from New Hampshire.
On the other end was a pleasant voice from an Arcadia Publishers proofreader whose voice was cool mountain water on the crows-footed forehead of my mind. She asked me if I had some time to go over some text revisions in the Springfield Aviation proof I had sent in about two weeks ago.
And go we did. I was delighted the publisher would take the time to be sure corrections needed to conform to their stylebook would be okay with me: corrections including no contractions, no sentences beginning with numbers, proper use of upper case when talking about governors and mayors . . . . all routine, and a welcome education for me. I did not know proper form requires “…. according to Springfield mayor Tim Davlin, … OR “…. according to Mayor Tim Davlin.” It makes good sense; I had simply never considered it before. I also thanked her and Arcadia for setting me RIGHT about spelling of “ordnance” meaning bombs and rockets and NOT “ordinance” which is how I’ve been spelling it since junior high. It’s a lesson well-learned and never to be forgotten.
About 20 minutes — See? You don’t have to begin a sentence with a number — into our conversation, I had to excuse myself because of a fragrance reaching my office from the kitchen. It was the fragrance of a pan with all the water boiled out of it sitting on a red-hot electric stove eye.
When a pan is that hot, and someone is waiting on the phone, there’s no time to fiddle with it. Don’t put water into it because the difference in temperature might break the pan. Just set it down somewhere. Where? I almost brought it back to my office so I could more swiftly resume the conversation, but on the way I saw a small table that used to be dad’s. I put a few pages of the State Journal-Register down as a buffer, an impromptu hot pad, and returned to the phone for the rest of the fine conversation. I told her what had happened and apologized for the primitive circumstance. She seened to understand. The rest of the conversation was a breeze. She asked if I had any questions. I said if she lived closer to Springfield I might, and then asked if she had an idea of when my (OUR, really; it’s an Arcadia team production and gladly so) book would hit the stands.
She didn’t know. After she completed the changes following our conversation, she is sending it on a CD to the printing facility in Carolina. They will schedule it for a press run and get back to me. In the meantime, she explained, I will be working with Arcadia’s public relations people. Excellent news, every word.
When I returned to my formerly-hot water pan and lifted it, I discovered it had not only burned the paper as you see it in the picture above, it had hot-etched the mark into the top of dad’s fantastic table. I tried to wash off the damage, but it’s there to stay. BUMMER. I understand he had bought it in New York City in the 70s, and I rather cherished it.
On the other hand, a piece of paper or cloth draped over the top, and it looks okay.
Even so, I am getting a hot pot today; not a frikking no-hame, the kind I purchased last year at the drug store. You know what they say . . . . .
Once burned, twice shy.
Live long . . . . . and proper.
After reading your post; one now does not feel so alone when it comes to having papers of importance, or treasured pieces of furniture threatened with the chaos that goes on between the coffee, the cup and me!
Have a good weekend,
Annie O.