Have you ever--and I know you have--opened your silverware drawer and wondered what's up with this random butter knife?
Or maybe it's a spoon matching no pattern you've ever owned. Seldom, a fork. And why is that, do you suppose? Forks must have a hard time repositioning themselves.
The strange knife with the floral pattern embellished on its handle spurred me to ponder about random possessions. They flow through my life like river flotsam: scarves, socks, serving utensils, plates, even at times, animals. They show up for a time, then move with the space/time continuum. Beamed in to help me make a sandwich or to lick my hand, then gone when I think to chase them down.
Random things intrigue me, especially in my writing life. What is the story of that knife? Did it coast in with a shared loaf of banana bread and leave as easily with a tin of cookies? Do ghosts appear and make themselves sandwiches, leaving their favorite knives behind? That would explain the fact I seem to never run even with the sliced turkey/cheese count. Maybe they're the ones leaving the pickle jars in the refrigerator, with just one lonely dill bobbing in a gallon of brine.
Do these same entities move my car keys and the novel I was reading? Hm...
See what comes of me having time off to think?
My best to you for a Happy New Year. It will, no doubt, be filled with degrees of emotion. Good and bad.
Random and predictable.
May you always find random things to bring a little wonder into your life.
Rhett DeVane
