Title Missing

I don’t miss much. Even when divinely demure, I notice.

So when I do miss something, especially a thing that brings such life into the picture, it kinda hurts.

It is vital. It is the beauty there, and allows a flow through the mirage of symmetry, and it is firmly at the crux of the true pattern. Even in the background, it’s at the forefront.

There it is, delightfully to the left. Alive, green, surviving the winter. It is simply gorgeous, slowly moving upward from the earth-filled space between the manmade stones. There, in service to its creator, it is unassuming yet stunningly in defiance of the artificial and the superficial.

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I wrote that days ago, waiting to publish it. But this happened at work today, and I will insert it here: I was cruising along on my mail route, really, as the day was easy-flowing, and I am paid for eight hours regardless, so I told them it would take eight hours, that I’d be done by 4:00. But after a couple of those hours into Salvation (the name I haven given this route), I was so ahead it was silly.

There is a casual restaurant at the midpoint, the address of which gets some mail and the food of which I shall not eat, but the restroom of which is one of which I avail myself, and in which I do pray. So, I parked, backing into a loading zone, and went in. Tried to. The restaurant was one the door of which was locked. The right door was still locked! I entered the left door, the lock of which was un-  and I alerted the manager that the right door was locked, and did he know (that he had a restaurant the right door of which was locked)? No he did not know, he said, that he ran a restaurant the food of which he serves but the right door of which was still locked, and maybe he is thinking that because his restaurant was only half open, his daily report will be one the morning sales line of which will be only half what it should be. And this is a grammar rule regarding prepositions which I am getting tired OF.

Well, that door, you see, I know that it is the right one—no doubt—but it was locked. So I went in through the left and went back to pray. I came out, started work again, and on a certain avenue, there were no letters in the tray for many of the addresses. The mail order skipped ahead to the next street. I had all the magazines and catalogs, etc., but the letter mail was missing. Hmmm, and I had just been thinking about missing something. Well, I delivered what I had, finished the route, and at the back of the last tray, there it was: the bundle of missing mail. Well, it was no longer silly, it was ridiculous how far ahead in time I was, so I circled back around for a quick prayer before I would go back again to all the addresses I had already visited, but that would now get the missing mail. I’d deliver it all, and still get back in plenty of time before 4:00.

I’m at that restaurant, backed in, and walking up to the two doors, and I am thinking that I will try the right one again as a test of my worthiness sort of. Just as I get within reach, this sloppy guy with a beer gut and two kids, cuts in front of me and opens it wide—the right door—and he and his two little boys push through. Well, heck Lord, that was not funny at all. So I go in the left door, pray, and come out the door I had entered, and one of the little brats is watching me through the window. I swear that he winked at me. 


There is an upside to missing something, and the sweet misery therein: missing it means you know what it is. And it may be that beautiful life growing between the stones, and what you have now found—out of order—bundled together on a route called Salvation.


Photograph © 2018 Timothy Waugh