by Pat Laster
“I’ve never seen one,” I said. “Wanna see mine?” he
asked, unbuttoning ………….. the top two buttons of his shirt. I even reached in
to touch––with his leave––the place that held his pacemaker. It was as round as
a pocket watch, protruding just slightly with a still-angry-red scar above.
Dr. N.
was an administrator at the school from which we both retired. He is a poet with
two self-published books, a former president of both the state poets’ society
and the local branch. This look into his shirt happened during the refreshment
break of an afternoon meeting of the local poets. Nothing clandestine.
Was I
audacious to ask to take such a peek? Maybe, but appreciative. Now, I know what
a pacemaker (pocket) looks like and where it is located. And when I hear others
talk of theirs or that someone they know has one or is about to get one, I’ll
be able to visualize it. Thanks, Doc.
Oddity: At the same meeting, a newish poet who says
she has written over a thousand “haikus” in the past few months asked me a
question I couldn’t grasp at first. “Do you like to go down to the boats?” I
couldn’t make out any meaning so I asked her to repeat it. “Do you ever go down
and play the boats?”
Oh, she meant the casinos. “No,
why?”
“Something I read in your earlier haiku collection,
about your sisters…”
Then I knew why she would think that. One of the poems
said something about my coming home with only fifteen cents.
No, the sisters never go to the
boats. We go to flea market areas or unusual places like Hilton Head, Savannah
and Charleston. And to visit our uncle in Oak Ridge.
Odd: Twice in three days, I’ve read allusions to the
hedgehog and the fox. Researching, I found that it is the name of an essay by
Isaiah Berlin in which he takes the hedgehog as the type of person who knows
“one big thing” as opposed to the fox who knows many things. The next time,
I’ll know its meaning.
Audacious: I have no caller ID. So when I answer a
call and no one speaks immediately, I hang up, knowing it’s a
robo-call/telemarketer/political ad. But this is what happened last week:
Phone rings. I answer on the first ring since it is
right in front of me. “Hello?”
Nothing. I hang up.
Phone rings. I answer. This woman whose voice sounds
like I think Ms. Shoffner’s voice would sound, according to the picture in both
the daily and last week’s STANDARD, says “Why did you hang up on me?”
Me: “Because you didn’t answer right away, and
because I don’t talk to telemarketers.”
“You DO realize it was an insult to hang u––”
Click.
Phone rings again. I didn’t answer; she didn’t leave
a message.
Can you imagine the audacity? Has that ever happened
to you?
2 comments:
Odd experiences give a writer just what she needs for her column. Enjoyed reading this!
Thank you very much. pl
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