Six years ago, Mrs E bought me a course at UBC entitled “Creative Writing”. It was led by the talented Mr Ripley Paul Belserene. One of his teachings was that we should write something every day. The idea was to keep the metaphorical door open so that when we were ready to write something of note, it had a ready channel. To support the exercise Paul taught us to use all manner of arbitrary prompts to begin the writing.
I’ve never been one to struggle to fill space with ramblings, whether verbal or written (as you’ve likely already noted), but I smiled with recollection of the lesson as I was shuffling some oddments around my desk this afternoon. I wasn’t actually tidying as such. There’s no fewer items there than when I began, though their influence on the world’s weather patterns is now subtley different. Then I picked up my newly rediscovered school pen and opened the very exercise book Paul had given me in the class. (“This is my exercise book. There are many like it, but this one is mine.”)
And I began to write…
Objectified. Stood in the corner at the party, glowing warmly to all the guests, but being stared at like a mere possession. True, you’ve only been part of the household since we met on my last trip to Europe. You’d moved there after spending your early life in New York. But when I saw you across the gallery in Marais I knew right away that we’d be together.
You couldn’t come back with me. Paperwork! I was restless for days until I got the call and met you at the airport. The taxi ride home was a little awkward. I just stared at you the whole way. You’d made the change from New York to Europe in your younger days, and now you’d need to convert to Canadian ways. I was so happy you were making the change just for me.
And we’ve been together ever since. The weeks seem to stretch out. I barely recall a time before you were here. But I’m regretting inviting so many people over now. Too many of my friends are just staring at you. It’s demeaning. You deserve better.
Forgive me, my dear, but I think the only solution is to turn you off for now. Sleep well, my beautiful Miss Tiffany Lamp.
And the inspiration for ce petit quelque chose:
1c US stamp showing Tiffany Lamp – note the “USPS” at the top of the stand
Quieter Elephant 