Today holds all the magic of tomorrow.

After trying to sort my life out, i.e., after emailing a navy recruiter, looking at PhD programs at Stanford and Brown, and figuring my courseload for the fall, I picked up a new ID at the Holyoke Center. Apparently, being in the social class of 2005 makes the computer believe you’ve already graduated. The assistant registrar fixed that for me on Monday and today my card was ready.

Satisfied that I can now swim whenever the pool is open, I sauntered over to Grendel’s for one of their $3.95 lunch specials, and a spy at the waitress DJ thinks is cute, and the waitor I think is cute. I had the chicken � la maison, a personal favorite. She mistook me for an instructor. I smiled all the way back to the office.

There, something moved me to process the mail. While rifling through the letters, after having finished the packages, I discoverd a yellow envelope addressed to my mailbox. My name was scribbled in what appears to be fancy-ish handwriting. On the lower-right corner of the envelope, printed in all upper-case is the word “MUSTARD.” Sure enough, that describes the envelope perfectly. Why it needs to be so self-aware is not clear.

There within, I found a greeting card which reads:
“Today holds all the magic of tomorrow and all the hope for the future.”

The inside of the card continues:
“Please Take Care”

[This card is part of the American Greetings Pleasant Thoughts line. The leading “Please” connotes a sense of urgency that worries me slightly, however.]

In the upper-right corner is a small arrow pointing up or a number 4. Perhaps it’s a star. Again, it’s unclear.

On inside left face is a handwritten note:
Thought of you just now.
Hope you are having a good summer.

– [unintelligible signature]

A one dollar bill accompanied the note.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me the signature was Chris something, but I can’t even begin to guess the last name.

The envelope was post-marked in Boston, so it couldn’t’ve come from too far.

Thanks, local person.

Thinking About the Third Grade.

Mrs. Grant assigned her third grade reading class to design a children’s book. I tried my hand at an adaptation and extension of Goldylocks and the Three Bears sans Goldylocks. My story detailed a day before that intrusive harlot stepped foot through their door: the day they visited the amusement park. Baby Bear got lost in the maze but was rescued eventually by his parents. They may have celebrated with a hot dog, but my memory is a bit fuzzy.

The individual pages of each book were collected, lamenated, and returned. One girl, Elizabeth by name, received special recognition, however. She had written about a child’s visit to the sea shore. In her text she chronicled his litoral discoveries: a shell, perhaps some driftwood, and a feather. Mrs. Grant’s praise inspired quiet jealousy within me.

Years later (over a decade later, in fact) Elizabeth confided in me — her story was plagerized. And still I harbor a secret jealousy.