November 16, 2020
The Wedding Ivitation
Almost all my nieces had taken turns coming over and feigning interest when I asked if they wanted to look at my stamp albums. Although they turned the pages a little fast for my liking, to be fair, each found a stamp or series of stamps which allowed them to set aside their bemusement at my late in life hobby and replace it with, albeit short lived, amusement. For Sammy, it was the Winnie the Pooh stamps I had from all over the world. For Rachie, it was my downhill skiing stamps from different winter Olympic games. And for Rena, the stamps from Rwanda were a perfect trigger for a discussion about a project she had just done for school. All three liked my album of art stamps which featured issues of paintings from Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh, and a host of other artists.
“It’s a little like a museum in a book,” said Sammy.
I get a little excited about my stamps and may have overdone it with my discourse on stamps from dead countries, countries which no longer existed, but if there was any eye rolling it was done out of my gaze.
Now Danna was home from medical school in Michigan and she came over to show me how to cook her Greek lemon chicken. Dinner was delish, although I had no intention of following her complicated recipe and instead planned on pouring on a bottle of lemon-garlic salad dressing, and we retired to my deck for coffee.
“Any interest in looking at my stamp albums?” I asked.
“Is there any possible answer other than yes?” she replied with a smile.
I said “Not really.”
She said “Ok.” Then said “Uncle Ronnie you know you are a little l’heetwhakakti right?”
L’heetwhakakti is a word I had made up. It is basically just the word whack but presented as a Hebrew verb. Nobody outside of my family uses it. This is the first time anyone has even written it down.
I shrugged my shoulders and handed her an album.
She flipped through it as one might a five-year-old Time Magazine in a doctor’s waiting room.
“Wait,” she said, having stopped at a page which hosted stamps from the tiny Himalayan nation of Bhutan “Isn’t that your Irish friend Carainn? That stamp can’t be legit.”
I knew the stamp. It was legit but she had good reason to question it. The post office in the capital of Thimphu offered tourists a very unique experience - for a little less than $20, you could upload a picture from your camera and create a genuine postage stamp, postmarked from Bhutan, and mail yourself, friends or family, a postcard back home.
Danna had come across a stamp Carainn had sent me when she was on a hiking expedition in Bhutan. It was before I collected stamps but I had kept the postcard.
“This is a real stamp?”
“Yup. It’s a thing. Bhutan is one of 6 or 7 countries which allow you to create personal stamps. Actually, you can do it in Canada.”
“That is jokes,” she said.
“Yeah, couples sometimes do it for their wedding invitations. I can do it for you and Robbie if you want. Just send me one of your engagement pictures.”
Danna thought about it and said “Nah, I mean thanks but I think it is kinda lame.”
“I didn’t think you would be into it,” I said.
“It’s not a bad idea but I think it would only be cool if it came from an exotic country.”
“Bhutan is exotic.”
“Nah,” she said as she scrolled through her iPhone “It is the number 1 thing to do in Bhutan on Trip Advisor. That is lame. I want a stamp from a country that doesn’t do personalized stamps. Now that would be cool.”
I said “Danna, how am I supposed to do that?”
And she said “Ask Lewberg if he has a guy.”
“Tell me the name again?” I asked Goldfarb. We were on my back deck drinking beer and playing backgammon. Lewberg was there too but he was already three or four sheets to the wind and was not adding much to the conversation other than to occasionally look up from his phone and call out the name of some old-time actress.
“Sophia Loren, Katherine Hepburn, Marilyn Munroe.” That kind of thing. Goldfarb and I were mostly ignoring him.
“Tell me the name again,” I repeated.
“Rotoratanga,” said Goldfarb slowly.
“That’s not a place,” I said. “How can that be a place? Lewberg, you ever heard of, say it one more time?”
“Rotoratanga,” said Goldfarb patiently.
“Roto ra tanga,” I pronounced slowly. “Lewberg?”
Lewberg looked up and said “Katherine Ross.” Then he said “Island in South Pacific. Used to be a French protectorate. Now it is semi-autonomous with an unofficial defense pact with New Zealand.”
I looked up at Goldfarb who shrugged his shoulders and said “He’s right.”
As it turned out, and not unexpectedly, Lewberg did have a stamp guy. But his stamp guy told him it was an impossible request. Goldfarb on the other hand, Goldfarb who, as best as we could figure had no friends other than Lewberg and I, turned out to know someone who could help.
“Tell me again how you know the guy?”
“I buy rocks from him.”
“You buy rocks from him?”
“Yeah. The island has beautiful volcanic stones.”
“What does that have to do with stamps?”
“His regular job is to pick the images which go on their stamps.”
“Images?”
“Yeah. Like beaches and you know, tropical fish.”
“I still don’t understand how it helps me.”
“Back when I was dating Marvin,” said Goldfarb, using the nickname Lewberg and I had given his girlfriend Sharri, “he offered to put us on a stamp. I kind of wanted to but Marvin ended things just a little after that.”
“You were going to be on a stamp?”
“Almost, but I remembered he had made the offer so I emailed him and asked if it was still possible. He said no problem.”
“No problem?”
“Yeah. He said they don’t even look at the couple. They just want the beach to look pretty.”
Lewberg called out “Gina Lollabrigida.”
“He picks the images?”
“Yup. They will issue 10,000 stamps for $5,000.”
“$5,000?”
“Yeah, well how many rocks do you think he can sell? Each will have a picture of your niece...”
“Danna.”
“... Danna. And her husband to be...”
“Robbie.”
“...Robbie.”
“It sounds a little shady.”
“Well of course it is shady but it isn’t nearly as shady as you think. They issue stamps highlighting and commemorating their island. Which is really just a lot of beaches. This stamp issue will be of a couple strolling along one of the beaches. Danna and Robbie will be that couple.”
“I don’t need 10,000 stamps,” I said. “I only need 100.”
“They print 10,000 stamps for every new issue. That’s how it works. The guy is doing me a favor.”
I turned to Lewberg “Lewberg, it’s crazy to spend $5000 for stamps for a wedding invitation, right?”
And Lewberg said “Diane Lane.”
I said “Harold?”
“You know my position. I can’t think of anything more idiotic or a bigger waste of money. She’s sending evites anyway right?”
I said “Yeah. These printed invites will be more of a memento. She really doesn’t think I will be able to pull it off anyway. How does it work if I say yes?”
“You email him the photo. You wire him the money. You FedEx him the invites. He prints one sheet of twelve stamps. He will send you the sheet for your approval. Then he prints 10,000. He then has someone on his end put the stamps on the 100 invites and mail them out. Danna’s wedding guests will get an envelope postmarked from Rotoratanga with stamps bearing the picture of Robbie and Danna.”
“He’s not just going to pocket the money?”
Goldfarb said “No. You are throwing it away but you will get your invites.”
I said “Ok, what the fuck. Let’s do it!”
Lewberg said “Goldie Hawn. And I’ll fight to the death anyone who says no.”
I asked Goldfarb to tell his guy to send the stamp approval letter directly to Danna. The wedding was months away so we had loads of time. Danna called me when it arrived.
Danna said “Rotoratanga?”
I said “Yeah.”
Danna said “Where the fuck is that?”
I said “In the South Pacific.”
Danna said “So jokes.”
I said “Does it look cool?”
“So cool!!”
“There was a sheet of 12?”
“No. Just one.”
“Just one?”
“Yeah, in a mini envelope in between cardboard.”
“Ok. Weird. Was supposed to be twelve. But it looks good?”
“Yeah amazing!”
“Ok great. So it’s good to go?”
“Do I have the option to make a change?”
I said “Yeah, I think so. That’s why they sent it. What’s wrong?”
“I just have a better pic of us. I don’t love Robbie’s smile in this one. Is that ok?”
“Sure. Email it to me and I will forward it.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
I called Goldfarb to tell him the sheet only had one stamp and that I had a new pic.
He said “We have a bit of a problem.”
I said “We have a bit of a problem?”
And Goldfarb said “Well, maybe more than a bit.”
I said “What happened?”
“My guy got arrested.”
“Jesus! Because of the stamps?”
“Nope. Possession of cocaine.”
“Oh my god. So what does that mean for the stamps and the invitations?”
“Dead. The new stamp guy has his own couple. They are going to send back the invites. But the stamps are all gone.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah. Except the sheet he sent Danna for approval. Those were the only stamps that survived.”
“Fuck!”
“I feel terrible. I am going to give you the $5000.”
“No worries Harold. Not your fault. Danna will be disappointed but I think she figured it was a long shot anyway.”
Danna took it like a champ. I knew she would.
“At least I have one stamp as a memory of the adventure Uncle Ronnie. And I actually love the pic. Rotoratanga rocks!”
I was awoken by a banging on my door at 7am. I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door to discover Lewberg and his dog Benji. I had only seen Lewberg up at 7am one time before. It was at St Andrews in Scotland because we could only get a 7:15 tee time. And I was pretty sure he just stayed up all night.
I said “Lewberg, what the fuck? It is 7am.”
He said “I have been up since 4. Be glad I waited this long.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I woke up thinking about the stamp. I think it might be worth a couple of bucks.”
“Lewberg!”
“Just humor me. Call Danna and tell her not to throw it out.”
“She isn’t going to throw it out. It is a keepsake. She likes it.”
“Do me a favor. Just call her.”
“Lewberg.”
“Call her!”
So I called Danna. She was actually up and getting ready to go to the hospital for her new rotation. She asked me if anything was wrong. I told her no but that I just wanted to make sure she kept the stamp in a cool dry place. Maybe in between the pages of one of her medical text books.
She said “You are really l’heetwhackakti.”
I said “I know.” I hung up and turned to Lewberg and said “What is this all about?”
“I just got off the phone with my uncle Max.”
“Your uncle Max.”
“Yeah. He’s my stamp guy. I told him your story. That stamp is an orphan. Issued by an official entity. Only one copy in existence. It is rare and very valuable.”
“C’mon.”
“Max says $50,000 easy. Maybe more.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. You going to tell Danna?”
“Maybe I will wait until after the wedding.”
“You going to tell Goldfarb?”
“I think I will wait until after the wedding too,” I said with a smile.
Danna was an absolutely beautiful bride. She gave an amazing speech, had lollipop lamb chops as appetizers for me, and even made sure the bar was stocked with Ketel for Lewberg. Lewberg, Goldfarb and I were at said bar toasting the happy couple. Next to us were two middle aged ladies. Danna told me they were Robbie’s third cousins who he was forced to invite.
We weren’t that close but they were talking loud enough for us to hear.
“Did you hear how cheap her Uncle was?”
“I did,” replied her cohort “The nerve. Giving a single stamp as a wedding present.”
The end.