Archive for the ‘Lost’ Category

Don't fear for me Oakland.

Poor Kuro. Once warm and well-fed in the bosom of a loving home. A gentle nuzzle of Glen’s ear in the pre-dawn hour brought poured bowls of Tender Vittles and 2% milk.  Evenings, Kazuko’s lap ensured sanctuary and a certain scratch for that jaw-bone itch. Once a week Kuro would permit Kauzko to gently ring her collar bell or Glen to play that inane game with the gray tube sock.

Then a wrong turn on her afternoon patrol jeopardized  everything.

Now she is lost and cold on cruel streets of Oakland. Territorial dogs, express busses, cackling crows and wet nights under decks. She will lose two or more of her nine lives. But don’t fear for Kuzo. She is a surivor. She is sharp and resourceful. She has menacing eyes and an extra set of toes.

That’s right. Extra toes.

She's got two eyes and a nose. She's 'Over-Abundance of Toes.'

We’re rooting for you Kuzo.

OAKLAND, CA — An Oakland man was unable to leave his house today after all attempts at assembling an acceptable ensemble failed. An email to his employer confirmed that Jim McSilver would not be coming to work for the rest of the week, as he no longer had a jacket to match to his shirt, shoes and pants. The missing jacket, which sources have described as black, cotton, relatively inexpensive and “a wardrobe staple,” was last seen in the vicinity of Piedmont Avenue. Neither police nor the jacket’s owner have any clues to its whereabouts. In a statement made through his lawyer, McSilver declared, ”Without this critical keystone of my wardrobe, my only alternative is to be naked.”

‘For Lease’ has become the sign of the times on nearby Piedmont Avenue. Several of the bustling boulevard’s long-time businesses have recently closed: the over-priced antiques knickknack shop; the wood-paneled hair salon; the lighting store with the cranky owner. No doubt that fresh replacements will soon bloom in these prime storefronts. But few shuttered businesses will leave such a glaring gap in my smile as the 20-year local fixture, Piedmont Stationers.

In this digital age, I feel a touch foolish mourning the loss of a small store that sold paper, pens and day planners. I am not a stationary fetishist. I do not make my own paper by hand, nor covet the sensual contour of a Cross Pen.  But I loved their cards. Birthday, wedding, shower, and retirement. Their selection was microscopic, yet always perfect. Their cards never felt churned from a Hallmark assembly line. These gems were occasionally handmade, sometimes locally. and often retro-cool. Most had a dash of irony, but were always quirky and wonderful. The cards fit my sensibility, but more importantly I could usually find one to fit the personality of the recipient.

When life was less complicated (such as the early to mid 90’s), I often hand-made cards for friends and relatives. This store sold the cards I would have made with more time and more talent. When sending a card selected from Piedmont Stationers, I felt I could retain a hint of the “this card was made just for you” feel that made giving special.

My nearby CVS has a card section longer than my house. Office Depot has a boggling selection of Post-Its and printer cartridges. It is certainly easier and cheaper to order office supplies online. There must be some online shops with quirky, unique paper cards (Can anyone really get excited about receiving an e-card?). But none of these can replace the real value of a Piedmont Stationers.

More than just their cards, I will miss the sense of neighborhood fostered by this store. I will miss a shop with personality and character. I will miss the old-time and obscure (1970’s) candies by the register. I will miss the friendly counter help, the convenience and lack of a line at the register.

The loss of my neighborhood stationary store is not primarily about my nostalgia for great cards, the satisfaction of sending mail or even the tactile appreciation for paper. It’s really about the gap left when personality, artistry and intimacy have been removed from our communications and interactions.  And so I must end by acknowledging the irony that the first post on this blog, truly a broadcast mode of communication, mourns the loss of the birthday card, the most narrowcast and personal forms of communication.

Step up to the window.
No need to wait in line. All your missing stuff can be found here. Lose your car keys? Your password?  Your lunch? That lovin’ feelin’? You may find it here. If you don’t see it this week, wait a week or two, check back. You’ll find it here eventually.

The first posts will appear soon…