Its hard to tell a story that’s within a story, but I’ll give it a whirl. One day a while back, I heard the paper shredder and I ran like you’ve never seen up the stairs, adrenalin pumping wildly in my chest, nightmares filling my mind. Josiah stood on a pleather chair we have positioned perfectly and stupidly next to a tall bookshelf on one side and an “office” table on the other. We would move the chair, but its the only feasible spot for it in our modest house and the room needs a chair. So there it sits perfect for climbing the bookshelf and ideal for getting into “office” stuff like shredders. We usually have the shredder unplugged, but today someone had forgotten. Of course that’s the day Josiah notices it for the first time and wonders what it does. No worries, no limbs were lost or appendages severed and Josiah won’t go near it ever again.
Here’s a different story connected to the first in a sad twist. Eddy is a Bob Dylan fan of the highest order. To say he’s just a fan sort of minimizes his affection for the aging icon. Dylan makes Eddy laugh, pause, think, and yes, even worship God. If Eddy had the resources he’d own everything ever eked out of Dylan’s mouth, but such it is. We recently acquired a couch from an alley neighbor who grew up with Dylan’s(or Robert Zimmerman’s) brother. Our neighbor explains Bobby slept on the couch several times. I wish I could draw you a picture of this blessed couch with halos surrounding it, because that’s how cool Eddy thought it was when we put it in our living room. (for further reading on this topic see Eddy’s defunct blog) Incidently, in the photo above, Eddy insisted on reading his Dylan book with his Johnny Cash book propped up on the coffee table. I questioned the reasoning and he said they just go together, its the way its supposed to be. Ok.)
So that brings us to this morning when Eddy says, “I have something disastrous to show you.” He holds out a completely shredded Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan cd, his most favorite of all of the cd’s. I kind of felt like crying for him but then he told me not to. Sadness. At least it wasn’t the couch.
The moral of the story is not to leave things you love near a shredder. Go with that.