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Characterization. Image: The shipwreck of the ‘Mary D Hume’, resting in shallow water in the Rogue River near the Patterson Bridge in Gold Beach, Oregon. Photograph taken on vacation, 2013.
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“DELIVERY!” A brusque voice bellowed. Shaken from my quiet time, I put down what I was reading, and began walking the length of the hallway. As I was nearing the front door, a phone rang outside, and the same irritating voice barked: “WHATAYA WANT?”
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Thinking it somewhat peculiar, being so stentorian, I peeked through the sidelight, and watched a corpulent man tromp down the porch stairs, and then stop on the sidewalk. After dropping his mailbag, he began shouting angrily. “I don’t give a sweet shit! We’re NOT gonna pay those sons ‘a bitches! They’re all a bunch of freakin’ wankers! Tell ‘um to piss off!…”
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Being an avid student of human nature, from as far back as I could remember, I found myself gripped in fits of facetious laughter as the impromptu drama unfolded. The man’s peremptory shortness was exaggerated, amusingly so, and quite frankly, if I was the kind of person interested in filming the sad dysfunctional behavior of some individuals, I probably would have enjoyed capturing the whole thing on my iPhone and sharing it on YouTube. Thankfully, I wasn’t that kind of a person, and I wasn’t much of a YouTube fan either. Red-faced, and shaking irately, the man at last snapped his retro flip-top shut, and after shouldering his mail bag, he tromped off muttering heatedly.
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Turning my attention to what had been delivered, I picked up the worn manila envelope lying on the floor. There were stains and smudges all over the front and back, the upper left corner was torn, and there was no return address. As I gingerly tore open the top, a small sachet, smelling of parsley, fell out into my palm. At that moment, being drawn more to what had been written than why a parsley sachet had been sent, I tossed it onto the credenza, and then drew out the pages and glanced over the content to get a general overview. From the few words that fixed in my eyes, I sensed rancor, suspicion, and a strange kind of condescending bravado.
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It dawned on me then that Parsley was infamous for being an awkward plant, and also for its difficulty in germination. In Roman culture, parsley was associated with death, and the Greeks decorated their tombs with it because of how green it stayed long after cutting it. Certain folklore''s thought cutting parsley could be dangerous, or cutting it while you were in love would kill your sweetheart. Others thought that while cutting it, if you spoke a person’s name, it would cause them to die within seven days. Some even thought the plant connected users with evil, and directed people to pour boiling water on the ground before planting it to ward off the devil. And though it’s not mentioned specifically in Holy Writ, parsley is used during Passover as a symbol of rebirth and new beginnings. Surprising myself with what I’d remembered, I began to consider what parsley might mean in this particular context, or if it meant anything at all. Realizing that I had no way of knowing specifically what the senders intentions were, I shifted my focus, sat down, and began reading at the beginning. Here’s what it said….
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I regret to inform you that what we had is no longer viable. As loath as I am admitting this, I was somehow misled, not by any agenda on your part, but in my preliminary assumptions about what kind of a person you were. At first, I was most impressed with what you do, and in most ways I still am. This is not about your gifts, or the mystery of why you keep so much of what you’ve accomplished in your life a secret. It’s about the mortification I feel because of what you believe spiritually, and that you actually have the unmitigated gall to speak about it to other people. Christianity is a belief system which I regard as a myth, a fool’s fable; and because of it I am forced to distance myself from you to avoid embarrassment. I have no regrets for feeling this way. I am far too settled intellectually to consider any line of thought other than my own as relevant to my personal growth.
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Now… please, try to understand, that even though I find your spiritual beliefs absurd, I still regard our virtual relationship as favorable, as long as it does not interfere with my own interests. Please appreciate, that the way I am perceived is far more important to me than any purported kinship that others may construe between us, or anyone else for that matter. As a matter of fact, I consider our relationship presently as a sunken vessel that didn’t sink completely. I’m sure someone as literary minded, and spiritual as you, can understand the metaphor properly. You may construe my attitude as lacking in character, or even rude, or perhaps even acidic, but I do not. Quite frankly, no matter how I approach this emotionally, or intellectually, I can find no way around what I feel. What you believe is offensive. But thankfully you’re not a complete offense. A spiritual offense, yes, but not an intellectual or creative one. And even though I have no disregard for your abilities, or your keen perception as a retired composer/musician, I still must insist that we remain invisible publicly to one another. Being mindful of the many twists and turns life throws at us, and also what may happen to my reputation if people discover I’m associated with you, I would respectfully request intelligent dialogue only, as we excogitate life’s mysteries in the public forum. Very sincerely yours…” No name.
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All I could do was shake my head. “Intelligent dialogue? Excogitate life’s mysteries?” Who in the world was this person? Notwithstanding feeling somewhat marginalized at how they viewed me, I was still inclined to accept what had been said without reservation or reluctance, or allowing any offense to take root. I mean, honestly, if this person didn’t have the stones to reveal who they were, why should I care?
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After reading it again, I began seeing how dishonorable it was that this person had relieved themselves emotionally and psychologically, without ever revealing who they were. I had to chuckle though, especially at their apparent need to take from me only what made them look good, and to remain civil with me, in an effort to substantiate how they were perceived in the public forum. That made no sense. It was deceptive and one-sided. How do you maintain civility with someone when you don’t know who they are? Civility is an art, and requires at least two people caring for each other. It’s behavior that slowly gains and nurtures mutual respect, not power or control. Obviously, this persons opinions were very real to them, but to me, they were just self-serving hogwash. Aside from the obvious cowardice displayed, and the selfish bent to take from me only what made them look good, it was quite clear that some people are remarkably self-serving, and far too preoccupied with how they are seen, than who they really are. It was abundantly clear too that there are instances when people can affect others in ways that lack orderly continuity, and they do so just by being (what they consider) truthful and authentic.
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That being said: perhaps the parsley sachet was representative somehow of the awkward difficulty this person had accepting me. A certain kind of bitterness that would keep anything worthwhile from germinating between us. One good thing about it though: being rejected (as far as I was concerned) was far better than being ignored.
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© Richard Lloyd Cederberg
2/2026
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I don't know if you are writing a true story or fiction. But either way, anyone who sends a message anonymously is, in my mind, a coward. Someone who does not have the courage of their conviction to reveal who they are.
You made me recall two times in my career when anonymous notes made by a single student/coworker cast unwarranted doubts out on me that were hard to overcome.
Ron