Brandon’s organ was so heavy that he had to have a friend come over and help him lift it. Brandon plans to spend a lot of time in the basement, playing with his organ. I am, of course, welcome to go down and play his organ as well. A few days ago, Brandon printed something off the internet on how to service his own organ. He concluded that servicing one’s own organ is too complicated. I told him that I’ve heard that one before.
But before all this, we had to make some room in the basement, so we rounded up a bunch of basement flotsam, including my high school yearbook from senior year. I put in a pile of other stuff and took it upstairs. (Where, incidentally, it still sits.)
Later I flipped through it. Here are Beth and I. I remembered that we’d worked on the high school literary art mag together. I did not remember however, this level of dedication to Cosby fashion.
Maybe my sweater's design is a Rorschach blot. I kind of see an organ.
6 comments:
omg that's funny. I think I had that sweater. I'm not sure "organ" comes to mind, maybe organ grinder.
love your blog.
Wow, that's cool about the organ. I've always wanted an organ. But I can't afford one so I'd have to get a used or donated organ. (See, you can go in all kinds of directions here.)
Note the editorial pencil in hand. Consider, too, that sometimes the press is called "an organ." Organic, huh?
Your high school had a literary art mag? Lucky!
My husband plays the organ (at church, no less), but I don't think I want to go there.
Classic picture!
I'll never think of an organ the same again.
He just found a book in the bench of the organ called "Manual Exercises for All Organs."
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