When I was young, four or five, my older sister and I got locked in a closet by a babysitter. Now before you go imagining the worst, let me just say that the babysitter was there in the closet with us. This poor teenager was doing her best to keep us entertained, indulging whatever fantastical game we were playing, and inadvertently got us stuck in a small dark space filled with coats. We were at my grandparent’s house. I remember the closet, it was in my grandfather’s study, which had a fold-out couch and served as a second guest room for me when my sister and I would sleep over. My sister got the actual guest room that had the big, tall adult bed with the beautiful mahogany wood frame, a family heirloom. I had no qualms sleeping in my granddad’s study with the books lining the shelves, many of the spines lodged in my memory (“Who is this Burr Gore Vidal person?” I remember thinking), and the small desk he used for writing. But I really don’t remember any more details about getting locked in the closet.
Thank you, Ted. Your words fill my heart with so many memories. I remember Chester’s study and Marita’s little pool out back where she would put prizes to fish for. And cookies. I miss Monique so much and love you so much too!
I have found grief to be one part friendly acquaintance lurking in the shadows and another part sumo wrestler throwing salt all over and stunning with unerring slaps. Grief is so personal and so hard to share, but this was perfect. I smile whenever I think of you and Monique and everyone in that house on Coffins Court. I hope you are surrounded by painters!
This is a great story, Ted. My little sister once got trapped in her closet while my parents and I were watching a marathon of American Gladiators. I don’t know how long she was trapped, but she was gone for at least three episodes until she figured out a way to free herself with a coat hanger. She came downstairs drenched in sweat, yelled at us, and then sat down next to me to watch TV. ❤️
That's a wonderful story, and I do not remember it at all! You've become such an accomplished writer over the years that it's a joy to read whatever you write. Thanks for sharing. Love, Dad
Thanks for sharing, Ted. I don't fully understand your grief, but I am thankful that you shared your story. I've followed you for years, on Vine, Twitter, and now here. I've forged my own memories of your stories, humor, and sketches. I'll remember them for years, even this story.
Such an apt and poignant tableau of how much we support and signify for and to one another in our myriad human entanglements. It is vexing! Vexing to lose the people who help us flesh out our human stories! Oh Ted. Thank you.
Thank you, Ted. Your words fill my heart with so many memories. I remember Chester’s study and Marita’s little pool out back where she would put prizes to fish for. And cookies. I miss Monique so much and love you so much too!
I have found grief to be one part friendly acquaintance lurking in the shadows and another part sumo wrestler throwing salt all over and stunning with unerring slaps. Grief is so personal and so hard to share, but this was perfect. I smile whenever I think of you and Monique and everyone in that house on Coffins Court. I hope you are surrounded by painters!
This is a great story, Ted. My little sister once got trapped in her closet while my parents and I were watching a marathon of American Gladiators. I don’t know how long she was trapped, but she was gone for at least three episodes until she figured out a way to free herself with a coat hanger. She came downstairs drenched in sweat, yelled at us, and then sat down next to me to watch TV. ❤️
Ted,
That's a wonderful story, and I do not remember it at all! You've become such an accomplished writer over the years that it's a joy to read whatever you write. Thanks for sharing. Love, Dad
Thanks for sharing, Ted. I don't fully understand your grief, but I am thankful that you shared your story. I've followed you for years, on Vine, Twitter, and now here. I've forged my own memories of your stories, humor, and sketches. I'll remember them for years, even this story.
Such an apt and poignant tableau of how much we support and signify for and to one another in our myriad human entanglements. It is vexing! Vexing to lose the people who help us flesh out our human stories! Oh Ted. Thank you.