I’ve been traveling again, this time to Boston (for the first time) and New York City. I’ve lots to tell, but for the moment, here are two photos.
Stepping down into the Apple store on Fifth Avenue.
Lost sock found at MOMA’s sculpture garden.
I am cleaning out The Drawer That Never Gets Cleaned Out. Some things I’ve found:
–My ex-husband’s address book from the early 80’s (and mine too)
–A certificate of congratulations from the Young American Bowling Alliance recognizing my then-7-year-old son on his high game (80) and high series (200) (November 11, 1991)
–At least twelve key chains (I quit counting), including one that is a brass replica of a ticket to Phantom of the Opera
–My TWA Frequent Flight Bonus Program Member card (Not Transferable)
–A tiny vial labeled Smoke Bomb Oil
–The instruction booklet for a pager
–The key to a car I haven’t had since 1997
–More return address labels than I’ll probably ever use
–A booklet from Pacific Bell that includes instructions for a rotary phone
–Four bookmarks with sayings on them: 1) Love is sharing your book. 2) This book very good, but this bookmark DELICIOUS! (with a picture of Cookie Monster). 3) When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. 4) I finally got it all together…but I forgot where I put it.
–A little plastic thingy that connects a cable to VHF/UHF thingys on a TV
–A Home Depot card with a receipt showing a store credit of $123.63 (12/10/03)
–Gummy bear earrings (discolored, disfigured)
–The key chain I used in junior high and high school, which has a green frog on one side and a mirror on the other
–Lip gloss, Dr. Pepper flavor
–A piece of 8.5 x 11 paper folded four times with a tiny pencil drawing of a stick figure on the outside and the word “INTEGUMENTARY” written twice on the inside
–Keys and locks—some actually go together
–A laminated picture of Katherine Harris on a chain that says: “Conspiracy Theory #359: W. is Katherine Harris in disguise. Think about it.”
–The broken off arm of a bowling trophy (the arm that has the ball in it)
Sifting through stuff = Sifting through memories = Sifting through places and stages of life and people = Sifting through ideas and identity.
I didn’t expect that cleaning out this drawer would lead to the Zombie Resurrection of Memories, but it did. I was progressing nicely. Several items were already in the garbage. Then I got the urge to make a list, which I knew would become this blog post. Then I had to take a photo, so I asked The Scout for the black velvet background and drafted him to assist with composition. Then I dug through the trash and found the Smoke Bomb Oil.
Why the Smoke Bomb Oil? Because I miss my boys. They are men now, and I am fortunate enough to see them from time to time. But I miss my boys, and I have dreams about them as little kids. Can I blame this on hormones?
Some years back, my dad told me several times that he missed me as a little girl. I didn’t appreciate him saying that to me. I’m still here, Pop, right in front of you! But now I know what he means.
I parted with the Smoke Bomb Oil, but not with the button with the baseball kid, or the bowling certificate. I regret to say I couldn’t throw out the bowling arm either…not until it is reunited with the rest of the trophy (which I still have).
One drawer down…the rest of the house to go.
People live here, but we didn’t see any.
I imagine if you live in Darwin, you are very thankful for Netflix.
Time to get up and move around:
We were so in phase in our dance hall days
We were cool on craze.
You and everyone we knew could believe
Do and share in what was true.
I have come to realize that I will never again remember things as I once did. Now, when trying to remember the name of, say, a prominent actor, it’ll go like this: Continue reading “Turning the Page”
From the Dec. 8, 2009, Writer’s Almanac – Bill Bryson: Continue reading “Travelogue: Southwest Florida 2”
Greetings from Fort Myers, Florida. Continue reading “Travelogue: Southwest Florida”
White’s Point Bluff Park, San Pedro. Photo copyright Tim Down.
I generally dread summer heat. This year I didn’t bother. Why dread it when it is inevitable? Why waste a good, cool spring dreading the white sky and hot temps of Southern California?
2009 Best in Festival, 1st Place – Mucha by Arlou Somo
More photos after the jump. Continue reading “Pasadena Chalk Festival 2009”
Blah, blah, blah. I’ve got too much work to blog properly, but I owe you an update. My friend A is doing well, though she will never return to her doctor again (she’ll get a new one). Sample conversation with Doc prior to recent surgery:
A: But I’m still having pain—something isn’t right.
Doc: Oh, everything is fine. You’ll be fine.
A: But I don’t feel well. The pain comes and goes, and sometimes I’m nauseous.
Doc: Don’t you know how many of these surgeries I’ve done? You’re fine.
A’s ovary had become engorged with blood and she had a small cyst. So they took out the ovary and the cyst. In a subsequent visit to the ED, the physician there (different guy) told A that they didn’t take out the cyst, but that it is very small. A was (quite understandably) very upset to hear this news, so she jettisoned her doc and has been going to County for her follow-up.
It’s the economy, stupid: Today is trash day on my street, and in the 10 minutes that it has taken me to write this, two guys have come by to rifle through our bins. I heard a couple more people earlier—You locals (or anyone with curbside recycling) probably have had the experience of waking up in the early morning light to the sound of your empties clinking their final farewell to you. The last guy had long arms and gloves…essential for reaching down to the bottom where the last two plastic bottles were lurking (tonic water, if you must know).
And now, as promised, the photo (courtesy of The Scout):