Fishing for Money

I must have been a quarter awake when I stumbled down the hall to turn in my rent check. The three or four hours on the road back from Portland were long and deeply pensive. Once the vehicle stopped moving, I was exhausted like a man who'd sat in front of a computer for 8 hours or a woman who just got home after a full day of shopping.

Maurice had been working for a few weeks down in Portland, still doing the basket road shows at Costco for Rwanda Partners, which generally run about 10 days at a time. He came home for a few days between shows and I decided to come with him for a portion of his second trip. (Yes, I know. I have an amazingly flexible work schedule.)

It was a nice little getaway - we stayed in a community house with two awesome couples, three adorably mischievous children, and two fun singles in their 20's. It was a fun-filled adventure, featuring - but not limited to: a free test of our penmanship at the Museum of Contemporary Craft, a late night for sweets at VooDoo, bonding with the fantastically devious 3 year old miss Junie Hamon, wandering in and out of the quaint boutiques that riddle either side of Hawthorne St., diving 7 and a half pounds deep into the treasures of "the bins," reading with Maurice in the courtyard of Western Seminary on a rainy afternoon, gathering at Door Of Hope (think 300+ hipsters celebrating Jesus together), and meandering through Powell's extraordinary collections for hours. I was there a sum of 4 days and 5 nights and conquered all this.

Conveniently, my dear friend/boss/former housemate Jen and her husband Bryan were down for a conference (and liberties from their parental duties, I'm sure) that weekend, and they graciously let me ride along to the Emerald City. Aside from initial conversation, it was a pretty uneventful ride. So I spent most of the time thinking and journaling about storyboards for the music video our Community Group is doing for a song that a member at our church wrote called Passover (more updates to come on that!) - and was mentally exhausted by the time they pulled up to the front of my apartment.

Being aware of my proclivities toward forgetfulness, I often make brilliantly helpful lists and leave precarious reminders in places where I'll take note of them. One of said reminders was sitting on our dining table when I walked into the apartment around 10:00pm that night: a post-dated rent check. I promptly picked it up and walked down the hall to the mail/laundry room, where the small metal box that takes over 50% of my monthly income lives.

A few months after we moved into our building, our antique mailboxes on the 1st floor were replaced with shiny new ones that are not nearly as glorious as the former, though far more functional. The outgoing mailbox that is now affixed to the same wall as the rent check box also happens to be of similar shape and size. One oh-so-drunk-off-sleepy lady with a rent check and item to mail in hand could easily confuse the two.

And that is precisely what I did.

Somehow, though, in my grog-ridden state, I manage to also maintain low anxiety levels. I calmly strolled back to my apartment and hunted for the contraption that would save my check. And, after some trial-and-error involving a potato and a ruler, I created the Rent Check Fishing Machine which you see above. So in the event that you fall into a similar situation, call me. I'll whip this bad boy up for you in no time. Thank you mother, Jane, and Roberta for supplying the furnishings for this fantastic contraption. Who knew tide-to-go pens and spatulas had such a variety of uses? Praise God.

And yes, the rent check was saved. To the glory of God and joy of all people. Amen.