Today I went through two boxes of memories. One was a sealed plastic box with a slit in the top that I have been throwing movie tickets and school notes into for years now. The other was a box full of birthday cards and random letters that I have saved. I was planning on throwing them all away...but can I really do that? To some, yes. But where do you draw the line? How do I know what I will want to look back on later? I have novels that my friend Benedita wrote me in 7th grade when she moved to Portugal for a year (yet at the time it was indefinitely). I have clever and witty birthday cards from my brothers. I have notes my friends and I passed in school about drama that I can't even remember, and graduation invitations from friends. I have movie tickets, play tickets, dance concert programs, and event passes of things I had totally forgotten. It was quite fun to go through them all--but I am just being a pack-rat if I save them? Maybe I'll have to go through again and really look at the ones that have meaning to me.
One that I came across has a funny story that Emily had to remind me of. There was this kid in high school who always wore a suit. Always. Somehow, he talked to me one day. Just minor things--I never saw him for more than a brief passing in the hallways. One day, he came up to me and handed me this letter. It's really well written, but slightly creepy...
A satirical and fictitious love letter to Ms. Rachel Clarke (he spelled my name wrong)
Dearest Rachel,
My feelings for you are as deep as the pits of pandemonium. My passion for you is almost unrivaled. But alas and woe for me, except the blessed soul who accompanies you now! It is not my only wish that you are engulfed in an ocean of bless with this good man of yours, and that he may have no doubt in commitment for you.
It is knowledge from the general public that other than being unbearably gorgeous, you are an intensively meticulous person. There is sufficient rumor that in your locker and possibly under your mattress that you have a list, which is five inches wide and seven and a half meters long of all the suitors who have proposed for your alliance. It is rumored that you have a brilliantly meager number of eight hundred and twenty suitors, whose names are written upon that catalog. I cannot help but feel great outrage at this statistic. For one as honorable as yourself, there should be at least seven thousand or more of these lustful pickles who dare court you.
What reason why I would write this letter, is to offer you a proposal. There is perhaps grim reason in the future and hopefully only through the consent of your own emotions that you may discharge your lucky fellow and move down through the number of suitors upon your list. I ask you, not from lechery or wish of marriage yet, but of enduring and ever lasting love, that you mark my name under slot five hundred and twenty six on your lengthy list. Such a number I know is not a modest proposal, and for an unworthy toad like myself, should bargain only for at least seven hundred and fifty four or the nine hundred and thirteenth slot. However, my dear lady, I have reason to argue for my bold proposal to be number five hundred and twenty six.
As a musician, I excel unsurpassed as a kazoo virtuoso. I have received great praise for my unrivaled talent on the kazoo from numerous competitors and other well esteemed critics. The tones and timbres that I am able to create through my plastic instrument have brought warmth and satisfaction to numerous people of different tastes: I think you couldn't help but to agree also. I am a talented juggler. I can toss oranges, tomatoes, torches, books, magazines, three of seven hamsters, knives, plates, on-line vibrators and cellular telephones.
In closing, after making further calculations of my proposal, I have determining that I will be ninety-eight years old by the time you elope with number five hundred and twenty four. However my dear, such a time for myself to abide will be worth the wait, if you reach number five hundred and twenty six.
Cordially yours,
Sean (not the kids name who wrote the letter, just a alias)
Joce and her boy Ronie. He's a good kid. We like him. And so does Joce. He lives in Salt Lake, so it's a real treat when he comes down to visit.
We had a two page, front and back, packet full of services being auctioned off. The Sweet Goodnight Package, including warm treats and bedtime stories sold for $110! I couldn't believe it. We auctioned off homemade ice cream, and it went for $20. There was also a silent auction, mostly sweet treats. There was a really awesome photo someone took of Mt. Timpanogos, which is a really good mountain. I was going back and forth with a girl I didn't know. I went up to $50, then she went to $60. I just felt bad, like I should let her have it. I tried to buy some dinner services so that I didn't have to make dinner tomorrow, but once I got to $20, I gave up. I think I might have won some Sunday treats and grilled Chicken...but we'll see. There were some hard decisions to make.
Some people didn't dress up, and made those of us who were dressed up feel awkward. Such as Vale's brothers, and their roommate. They just came for the catered food, really, then left. Classic.
Vale got pulled into an advertisement for someone's service. We were sitting too close to the front. The service was raquetball lessons with this kid. He's the one that bought our ice cream, by the way.
It was a fun night, and since I got so much done during the day, I didn't even feel guilty about having fun!
