While I have not written for this blargh lately, I have been writing. My alma mater offers an annual alumni service award of $20,000-$25,000 for projects that "provide tangible benefit to others." That's the criteria. It can be a domestic project or an international project. It can create a new program, or support an already existing one. It can fund materials and it can fund manpower.
So I figured it should fund another year of service work for me on the island.
Cut here to a super sweet montage of me wearing my glasses and brainstorming with sharpies on a large sketch pad; furrowing my brow at my computer as I draft the language; slaving over an old school adding machine as I calculate my budget; and batting my eyelashes at people for their letters of recommendation... then cut to printing out the final proposal. Reductionist montages are the bomb. Now I will remember the process as fun and peppy. Did I mention that in this montage, I am played by Kristin Bell of Veronica Mars fame or some similarly impossibly cute actress who evokes eternal adolescence?
The preparation of the proposal has to be a montage, because the real meat of the effort came in posting it. Suffice it to say, that the very last realistic minute I could possibly post this proposal and have it maybe get in on time was Friday, February 13th, 2009, at 7:40 a.m. The mailboat leaves the dock at eight, and it is is always a crap shoot as to when the mail will be brought to the boat from our lilliputian post office.
The printing out? That happened at 6:45. I finished filling out the last blanks on the application itself at 6:53. By 7:00 I had thrown everything into my messenger bag and was out the door and on my way to run a very important errand.
Which is to say I needed to go see if I had left both my wallet and checkbook at the town hall. We are a mellow people on the island, but since the Post Office is about as formal as it gets here, I assumed I would in fact need to provide our post mistress with some form of payment if I wanted my pages shipped to Iowa in an expeditious fashion. Knowing I might have to back track, I was prepared to sprint.
I hopped along in the spaces between the ice on my drive way, shouted a greeting at the herd of deer who were meandering on the road up the hill, and then turned myself down the hill toward town. It's a cold and windy day, so my sprint only lasted about 2/3 of the way to the town hall. I arrived red cheeked and breathing heavy. Normally, I could have just barged in, visually ransacked the place, and got on with life- but today for the first time in ages- we had people staying overnight. In the very portion of the town hall I needed to search.
After confirming the situation by gazing though the crack in the door, I gently knocked. Having received a groggy response, I began to explain:
"Uh, hi. I think I left my wallet and checkbook in this room, and I kind of need them to get a grant proposal out in the mail... um... are you decent?"
Once I had their assurances, I entered the room. Have you ever walked in on total strangers first thing in the morning when they are all sleepy and in bed? Weird. It's just weird.
And of course my wallet and checkbook were not there.
Which did not phase me in the least, though I did emit a few "frickety frick fricks!!!!" I checked the library itself, then sprinted back to my house- waving to the schoolteacher as she drove past. Once home, I picked up my phone and dialed my neighbor's number. Her boarder (previously referred to as Spacey- he of the truck in my driveway) answered. Damn it.
"Weeeeeeeell... Marion's heeeeeeeeeeeeere... but I think she is in beeeeeeeeehd... What's this aboooout?"
Damn it damn it damn it.
In my best flustered annoyed woman voice, I passive aggressively made my case:
"Oh no... Nooooo... It'll be okay I guuuuuuuess... will just have to call Paula. And go down to the school..."
As I hemmed and hawed and said it would be okay, he was beginning to say "well I guess I can wake her up" and before long, Marion was in the background asking if it was for her.
Bingo. She'd spent a lot of time last night at book club discussing her morning routine (and how Spacey's ten year old daughter needed to be told to not call until after 7 a.m., rather than 5:30 a.m.), so I was pretty sure that she would have been awake at the very least.
"Good morning Marion! It's after seven o'clock! How would you like to invest in the future of this town?"
"How much will it cost me, and will it involve getting sand for these roads?"
"Well, it'll cost first classy overnight postage to Iowa."
Now it speaks to the awesomeness of neighbors that Marion heard "first class passage to Iowa" and was willing to pony up hundreds of dollars in airfare, and just thought "well, good for Morgan!" We did pretty quickly hammer out that it would actually just be airfare for an envelope, which wouldn't run more than twenty bucks. I ran across the street, arriving at the door before Spacey had even set down the phone. Marion made her way down the stairs and to her cash stash, and we laughed about my wallet, and the misunderstanding; she handed me the money, and I flew out the door.
Turing down the hill (once again), I saw the teacher- returned from getting her mail- backing her car into the driveway across from the school. Magic. I hurtled myself down the hill, and arrived at her vehicle, just as she had gotten out.
"P...Paula. C'n I borrow your car to go to the post office?"
She looked at me like I was mildly crazy, but shrugged that of course, I could use it any time.
Into the car (one of the few mainland-worthy cars on this entire rock), and down the road. I had no clue what time it was, only that I was on it. I gently threw my shoulder against the post office door to budge it open, and made my hello to the post mistress, who was invisible behind the counter. When I first arrived here I was terrified of this frail looking and nearly silent older woman, but I spent the last year and a half proving that I was staying a spell, making myself useful, and have good manners, so she's thawed toward me a considerable amount. I have also been working with her grandson, so I daresay that helps.
I explained my needs, and got the express envelope. I have to say they should make the labels larger. People who need to use express mail are likely to also be suffering from an adrenaline rush. Legibly scripting an address in a small space when one's out of breath and trembling is not an easy task. But hot damn, if not having money couldn't stop me, neither would the spatial inconsideration of the United States Postal Service. I rifled through my messenger bag for the flowy fine tipped pen I had thrown in for just such a task. In my rush I had forgotten which pocket the pen went in, and as I went to pat down the interior of the bag, I glanced into the empty gloom and saw a sticker.
An admission sticker for the Victoria Mansion in Portland. Which is stuck over an admission sticker to the Farnsworth. Which is stuck to my wallet. Groping for my wallet, I also felt my checkbook, which (incidentally) matches the inside of the bag. Heh heh heh. My lucky day. I didn't even have to use Marion's money. Pay to the order of "Post Master..."
Once I had passed the envelope and check to Dottie, I even had the presence of mind to check the library mail and collect my own. I passed another neighbor on the way to the school and we exchanged grins over the fact I was in Paula's car- a perfect transport, which I lovingly put back in its proper place. I tripped happily up the hill to Marion's, walked in, and handed back the cash, then sat down to jaw over the morning's events, the proposal, and the state of the roads.
At some point here, I need to make some Valentine's Day cupcakes for the school's post-workshop steel drum concert (hence the strangers in the hall). But for now? I was coffeed and breakfasted by 4a.m. I am going to take a nap in this delicious sunlight, on this comfy couch, lulled by the bluster of the wind.
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2 comments:
Go Go Go! Good luck with your grant proposal! That was quite an adventurous read. And, I thought having my teeth cleaned was exciting today!
I think you should send Grinnell this post as an addendum to the application. With photos of relevant locations/people/vehicles, where possible. Then they'd have no choice but to give to you.
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