Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: STRESSED - Begins January 18 / Ends January 25 (01/18/18)
- TITLE: This Hound Dawg is "All Shook Up"
By Judith Gayle Smith
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His arrival came as a wedding present for our friends who just became engaged. My gal friend loves cookie jars, and her love enjoys everything Elvis. But alas, it was not meant to be.
Elvis arrived "All Shook Up", uh-huh, indeed. As I carried him into my apartment, the exquisite sounds made by a rain stick accompanied us to my comfy recliner. Opening the box, the same sounds shook me as I saw the source of the "music" - cascading porcelain, large, medium shiny sweet shards of an ill-fated once glorious Elvis in his pink Cadillac cookie jar.
While mournfully humming "Crying in the Chapel" - I resignedly spread papers, covering the antique coffee table to protect the glossy finish. I then gingerly placed pieces thereupon until the table was literally designed to resemble the last trip to "Heartbreak Hotel." Immediately, my mind went into overdrive, and, fearing my gal friend's wrath (her coffee table) I looked for a better place to spread the heartbroken lot. I placed a garbage bag over the scatter rug, and - frustration causing more stress than I could control, nicely replaced the mess right there on the floor. In a walking path, of course - but I could pull the rug when necessary.
The cookie jar lid is salvageable, but not for a gal pal who loathes anything chipped, cracked, marred nor chewed. But lucky for me, I'm able to keep the lid, rather than flipping mine.
Incredibly, the carton came without bubble wrap nor packing peanuts. All that was packed, holding it somewhat protected, were pieces of cardboard duct-taped to the lid.
Ah, but such a beautiful tableau decorated that lid. A delightful scene - Elvis sprawled in the back seat, feet on the back of the front seat, softly playing his celebrated guitar, with a very sexy sneer on his honeyed lips. The artist who created this nostalgic piece is very talented.
After taking pictures and submitting them to the seller, I had to pick up the sad clutter and put all in another box. After I so carefully did so, my gal friend told me I should have put them in the original carton Elvis arrived in - the one that clearly specified "Fragile, Handle with care" in big red felt marker. By this time I'm getting a bit crazy with the whole shebang, and just sat on my haunches like a hound dawg, sobbing.
Needless to say/scream, this once wonderful tribute to Rock and Roll's "King" is irreparable. No amount of glue can restore it. And, after waiting over a week for the return of my many dollars from the seller, I must contact the organization I so happily purchased it from to open a claim for me. Sadder to say, the instructions for contacting the company is beyond my or any human comprehension.
And to add to my extreme discomfiture, while I was searching, someone called me eight times in a row, treating my cell phone as if it were a fax machine. Ignoring dinner, hollering for my mother (who passed in 1999), sweating profusely - I remembered Whose child I am and the infinite rewards of His Kingdom. I put aside childish things to return to Him. May Elvis rest in pieces; I am bathed in my Father's peace and sanity once again.
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