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Three Things Part 2
By Stephanie Kemp
Three Things Part 2
By Stephanie Kemp
Do not be fooled.
Concrete Nouns can’t be trusted.
I offer, as evidence:
1. The Rubik’s Cube that has shared my bedroom since I mastered it during ninth grade Algebra by copying the moves of Rosemary W. (who should have been in Geometry or Algebra II - at the very least), now reminds me that a puzzle never stays solved (and if it does, life gets boring).
2. The Furstenberg Tea Cup that once invited me to sneak away from holiday dinners to join it (and the Royal Doultons) in their secret shelf life on my grandparents’ farm, now sits covered in dust and memory, trying not to judge my living room furniture and disappointed that I never stop to play.
3. The Single Die that helped my dad teach me how to conquer backgammon now glares at me with its lone eye from a perch on the kitchen shelf, mocking my attempts at individualism (and/or cooking), while also reminding me of the dangers of double or nothing.
As an added bonus (and depending on the day), the die can also remind me that I:
miss my two parents
wish the three sisters were still together
worry about my family of four (especially when I am not with my daughters and/or admit to myself that they prefer my husband’s cuisine)
look a little too forward to five o’clock somewhere
hope that the number six will always - at least try to - save me.
And it gets worse:
I still have to write Three Things - Part 1.
(Subject? Abstract Nouns.)
Concrete Nouns can’t be trusted.
I offer, as evidence:
1. The Rubik’s Cube that has shared my bedroom since I mastered it during ninth grade Algebra by copying the moves of Rosemary W. (who should have been in Geometry or Algebra II - at the very least), now reminds me that a puzzle never stays solved (and if it does, life gets boring).
2. The Furstenberg Tea Cup that once invited me to sneak away from holiday dinners to join it (and the Royal Doultons) in their secret shelf life on my grandparents’ farm, now sits covered in dust and memory, trying not to judge my living room furniture and disappointed that I never stop to play.
3. The Single Die that helped my dad teach me how to conquer backgammon now glares at me with its lone eye from a perch on the kitchen shelf, mocking my attempts at individualism (and/or cooking), while also reminding me of the dangers of double or nothing.
As an added bonus (and depending on the day), the die can also remind me that I:
miss my two parents
wish the three sisters were still together
worry about my family of four (especially when I am not with my daughters and/or admit to myself that they prefer my husband’s cuisine)
look a little too forward to five o’clock somewhere
hope that the number six will always - at least try to - save me.
And it gets worse:
I still have to write Three Things - Part 1.
(Subject? Abstract Nouns.)