The Simple Post

I'm sitting in the basement of a house with no air conditioning. Not that it needs to be on, it's all of six degrees in Minneapolis today. The fact that this house doesn't have air is no mystery, the father doesn't want it. Although he hasn't discussed his reasons with me, it has something to do with him going without as a child. Upon my return this summer, I'll be suffering, but I respect and understand a decision based on such unarguable reasoning.

I try to write thoughtful, informative emails to people whenever I get the chance. I make sure to avoid half assed notes, never send form letters, get my emotions on the page (even if I have to use a smiley face or two,) and make sure to give a little info if I'm asking for some. All in an attempt to bring communication from the email age to the heartfelt correspondence between friends that it once was. Last week I received a handwritten note from a friend, adorned with smile inducing Hello Kitty stickers and an overall charm that has made my entire week brighter. The content is straight forward and polite, something that doesn't quite give her sarcasm and wit justice, is a welcoming relic of an idea, a glimpse from the past, and a reminder of all the letters I never wrote. I've purchased stationary, and I stink eye it every time I open the cupboard. I've never had a pen pal in Russia, an out of state cousin to write to, or a brother in the military. That last one is a lie and it pains me to admit, during his four years of service, I never wrote.

Life seems too complicated at times. On occasion, I long for the good old days, the simple times when all there was to worry about was which car laden polo I was wearing to school and if all my Star Wars toys were accounted for. Simple worries such as this still exist (Where are you Boba Fett?,) but they've been added to, blanketed with bigger and more demanding worries. Even keeping up with friends takes a lot of effort. I hesitate to say it's a chore, because as much as my nap time suffers with a full social calendar, it is always better to be out with friends than slobbering on your pillow. Back in the day, making plans with a friend to go to a concert, or see Teen Wolf for the third time, was simple. The hardest part was coming up with the money and the ride. Those worries dissolved when the gang turned 16 and became employed.

My first job was making pizza. Waiting 3 months to turn 16 would not do, so I lied on my application. I started with the important, yet tedious, tasks of making dough, sauce, coleslaw, and various other sides requiring use of the 10 gallon mixer. The eventual move up to pizza maker, was a big deal. I was responsible for everything: Spread the dough into it's circular shape, distribute the sauce, apply all the requested toppings, cook the pizzas in the knuckle balding rotary oven, and then cut and box 'em. It was a lot for a 15 year old to handle on a Friday night, and also exactly enough. This first job still resonates with me; I dream about opening my own pizza joint and employing 15 year olds till I retire. I've already drawn up plans, come up with a name, secured the recipe, considered locations, gimmicks, and designed a logo.

As I get older, my life is turning into a quest for the simple things. I may surround myself with high tech gadgets and fancy hair products, but I long for the old days when worries of the day dissipated long before my head hit the pillow. If only I knew then, what I know now ... is a phrase I often ponder while daydreaming. I wish someone would invent a time machine. Although stopping Hitler, Columbine, and John Wayne Gacy would be considered as initial tasks, I'd start by going back to whisper that perfect come back line in my 11 year old ear so that Suzie would cry instead of me, I'd go back and tell college bound me to study computer animation, and I'd go back to tell my 23 year old self to write letters to my duty bound brother.