Sharp Yellow Ducks in a Row

Sharpen more pencils.

I don’t yearn to sharpen pencils every day, just some days, especially the days before big meetings, complicated situations on the horizon. I like having my pencils sharpened, my chewed yellow ducks in a row. I chew pencils during meetings because I can’t smoke. I can’t smoke because I quit and if I smoked now, I’d get sick. I think. I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s about being prepared. Having sharp pencils, paper in the proper stacks. Post-its telling me when to say what.

I threw away a lot of things in my office today. An old cup with a very faded picture of me that my staff gave me thirty years ago, crossword puzzles I will never solve, dozens of files, and half-filled crummy notebooks. I contemplated pitching my dad’s trumpet mutes (I know that’s what they’re called because I just looked it up.)

The mutes are probably, oh, seventy years old, maybe older, because he probably bought them secondhand from some guy’s trunk. And they’ve been sitting on my desk next to my printer for years. I don’t have his trumpet. I just have his saxophone. Why, I don’t know.

So about the mutes. I couldn’t do it. I moved them from my desk to the bookcase.

I got real close to my dad after he died. That sounds odd but he would get it. It takes time to appreciate the mutes.

I also dusted and rearranged the pictures on my bulletin board. I considered whether it was time to take down the newspaper clipping from 2010 when we all announced our city’s 10-Year Plan to End Homelessness. Fourteen years later, all the shelters are full, and a bunch of people are living on the street so, oh well. I won’t throw the clipping out but it’s losing its bulletin board real estate. Some glory days aren’t.

There is order and annotation, post-its and sharpened pencils. Mutes and old plans in their place. A wine glass nearly emptied. It is the end of a good day.