Drama, Drama, Drama

I’ve had this little packet of tissues for 11 years now. Realizing how long I’ve had it reminds me of my maternal grandmother who could hang on to something until no one knew what it’s original function had been, longer, really. We had some things for decades, and still no one knew the purpose. I’m not exaggerating. I did have fun improvising though. My grandmother remembered the Great Depression and WWII, shortages like the rest of us have never experienced. She even used marine toilet rules at home to save water unless there was company (If it’s yellow let it mellow. If it’s brown flush it down).

I got these tissues the night our house burned. Well, it was early the next morning. I had driven back from helping my mother with a surgery in south Alabama to join Russ in the front yard. The Red Cross showed up while fire trucks were still onsite. The fire was very hot and the firemen didn’t want it to re-ignite or damage the neighboring houses.

The Red Cross hands you a little bag of toiletries for each person in the house. It includes the strongest scented soap I have ever smelled. Really, it was wrapped and in a plastic bag in the back seat of the car and still very strong smelling from the front seat, screamingly noticeable, in fact, like a Yankee Candle Store had moved in back there, while I had bigger things on my mind. I bet some of the people they help need that much perfume to take things down a notch.

There was a toothbrush, too. You know the little one an economy hotel gives you when you forget yours? They have strange frayed bristles that remind you of raffia and don’t really clean, not my teeth anyway. These brushes were smaller still, but I kept them for a long time anyway. My grandmother lives on, through me. The Red Cross representatives hand you the bag along with some contact information, ask if you have insurance and tell you that they are done if you say that you do, but if it turns out that you need additional help, to call them and ask. I appreciated that they came, and grateful that my own toiletries were in the car from visiting my mother, and especially glad that we could buy some more comfortable toiletries for Russ.

I threw this packet of tissues away today. It was in my car armrest for a long time. I kept using the box in the back seat, saving the small pack for an emergency. Then it was in my bike bag for a long time, where I never stopped peddling to use it. I took it out of the bike bag a couple of days ago because I needed room for a photo background I wanted to carry. When I looked at the tissues in the car today I noticed that they were brown where the pack had torn open. That brownness washed out in the photo. It’s hard to notice. Briefly, I considered hanging on to them for a spill (grandmother’s genes) but, instead tossed them in the bearproof trash can at Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield where Russ and I went for our post election de-stressing lunch hour walk.

Sometimes my life is filled with drama. I’m really tired of that. Once there was a co-worker in a shared office space. She was on the phone helping someone deal with a drama queen client. She said “Drama, drama, drama.” She pronounced the first “a” like the “a” in “I am”. If you ever see where I’ve repeated that word three times in something I’ve written, that’s the way I’m pronouncing it in my head, and it means that I’m not wrapped up in it. I’ve had my fill. It seems like ever since the fire I’ve had my fill, and I’m ready to toss it out like those tissues.

I wish you the will and the opportunity to manage whatever pains you.

Until next time, have a glorious day and we’ll see you on the trail.