My spouse and I chose this house, 20-plus years ago, because besides being a nice building, it had a park at the end of the street, bus stops either end, a corner store (RIP, now a pilates studio) and a shopping plaza less than a klick away. “Location, location, location” as the realtors say.
In our street we (by which i mean the schoolteacher across the road enforces it on us all) have an annual tradition of a Christmas party in the park. We bring food, share home brewed beverages, welcome new residents and celebrate old (the beer brewer is the longest resident, having grown up in the street and seen his own children do same). And there are games. Non optional games. This year it was pass-the-parcel. I won a prize (one of the interstitial prizes, not the Big Prize At The End). I chose a tin box from the prize pile, it looked about the right size to enclose an electronics project i had in mind. The tin turned out to contain note cards and envelopes. Winnie the Pooh note cards. Half of them have “thank you” printed on the front in faux-cursive script, the others have no preprinted text. What am I going to do with those? Are there ten people in my life I want to thank? And what messages would I send to ten other people when Circumstances have given me absolutely no rules to guide the interaction. This is a heavy responsibility. I think I will start with some thank yous to warm up, then move on to Other Messages. My costume is nearly ready—it has a cape, fuck you, Edna—just waiting on the rocket fuel to arrive.
#Tootfic #MicroFiction #PowerOnStoryToot #TrueStoryUntilItIsnt