Ongoing Stories of My Soul

Look over my shoulder as I ponder life.

Escape to a Safe Place

Got a bill in the mail. Okay…so that is a pretty boring way to begin a blog. And way too realistic. But let me continue. My house is old and I have a mail slot with a little wooden door and so the postal contents fall on the floor. Okay…when the bills spill out of the mailbox they pile onto the floor. Junk mail seems to stay put. ANYWAY…my Not Quite Right Rescue Canine Max, likes to pretend he is ‘Jason Best Mailman Ever’ and decided to deliver/devour one bill. By the time I rescued the envelope, all I could read was that I owed $45 to my credit union. I called them to find out what it was all about, and they answered that it was for my safety deposit box.

Ohhhhh that box. The one I decided to rent and forgot about. Yeah, there is nothing in it but dust..kinda like my wallet. But I gathered up some important stuff and headed off to pay my bill. Here is the cool part of the safety deposit box ritual: when you get your trusty container, you are led to a small little closet. It has a chair and a counter and a light. Then they close the door. I mean…it is private!! What I wouldn’t have given for a little cubicle like this when I was raising four kids! A safe haven of quiet, calm, and privacy! No neighborhood ball team walking in when trying to nurse the baby. A respite from my son waking the girls up with his trumpet, and his standard stupid question, “What’d I do?” A break from my girls arguing about which one made the biggest mess in their room or why one sister cut the hair of the other one. I could have escaped the commotion when the four of them took a sleeping bag and engaged in ‘stair surfing’.

One little room. And not a toilet stall. Yeah, I have tried escaping in those at the mall, but eventually they shoo you out at closing time. And the bank furnishes a chair! So….I don’t know if you have a safety deposit box, or not, but I say to every parent who has begged for an island: call your bank. Pay the price. And it is soooooo appropriate to say, “Kids. Be good. Mommy (Daddy) has to go to the bank.” And just take your little key, sign the paper, get the box, and escape into that little room. Hey…take along a snack…and if you don’t finish it all, stuff it in the box. Who will know? So what if your property deed or will has a little bit of Cheetos crumbs on it. Nobody reads that stuff until you die.

Well, this is my new found respite from this crazy world….the Safety Deposit Box Lounge. Sigh. So…if you slip into your financial institution and hang out in the cool little cubicle, enjoy! Your secret is safe with me.

Ummm…..can you leave me some of your Cheetos? That important paper stuff is smashing my bag of chips.