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This Blog's Focus, or lack there of

Edith Wharton said "There are two ways of spreading light ...To be the candle, or the mirror that reflects it." That's what this blog is about, how the light of other people and the world around me have reflected off and in me. . .or other things when I need to write about other things, like walking, lizards, or fruit. There will be pictures of plants. All pictures are taken by me, unless noted.

I say what's on my mind, when it's there, and try to only upload posts that won't hurt or offend readers. However, readers may feel hurt or offended despite my good intentions. Blog-reading is a matter of free choice, that's what I have come to love about it, so if you are not pleased, surf on and/or leave a comment. I welcome any and all kind-hearted commentary.

It's 2012 and my current obsessions are writing and walking, sometimes at the same time. And books. I'm increasingly fascinated by how ebooks are transforming the physical book, forcing it to do more than provide printed words on a page.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Flood of Memories

The other day the output hose on my washer jumped out of the drain pipe and flooded the laundry room/storage room/cat toilet. I assessed the damage without my glasses on and mopped up what I believed to be all the water. So today I'm cleaning the two cat boxes, wishing I could do this without my nose on, and I noticed that my old steamer trunk had water stains near the floor. Yes I store cherished memories right next to where my cats poop. After hauling the truck out from under boxes, I could tell it definitely had water damage.

Was this going to be like when termites ate my Kindergarten school pictures? Would I open the trunk to find my high school and college calculus tests ruined? Could I survive the loss? No, no, and I really hope so or my hoarding tendencies are worse than I thought.

Luckily during my last purge of contents I had had the foresight to line the trunk bottom with a plastic kitchen bag. The trunk was soggy, but I can still read the letter to my french pen pal I wrote for Mrs. Griswold in ninth grade (the draft, of course. I sent the letter to France, received a ball point pen and a very nice letter in return, all of which gave me an overwhelming sense of obligation to maintain this friendship, so I never wrote a thank you back and still carry a speck of guilt for my neglect).

The contents matter little in comparison to the trunk. I put things in it, because keeping it empty seems inefficient, but what I cherish is the trunk. It had been my father's when he was young. He took it to Europe on a trip he made with his grandfather. I think he was a teenager and any stories he tells about the trip always give him a smile and a twinkle in his eye. When  it became mine, when I was elevenish, I kept everything I owned in it while living in a kids commune (which was scary and weird and I can and eventually will write more on that experience). The trunk was like a rigid security blanket. From then on I have toted it with me wherever I have lived, changing the contents as I grow older. When my daughter was a toddler, she scribbled on the front with a permanent marker. Unfortunately, it is not her best artwork. She has skills that aren't represented on my trunk. As she enters high school, I try to find forgiveness. When I do, I know where to store it.

I used to pull the trunk out from time to time, but now I only open it hoping to throw something away. Or, like today, to access the damage. It's made of paper, which seems an odd choice for a steamer trunk, but I think it will survive the recent flood. It's drying in my carport, so I guess fate has offered me an opportunity to consider replying to my pen pal. Merci beaucoup Feit.

Here's something Ralph Waldo Emerson said about fate:
"Tout ce qui nous limite, nous l'appelons Destin"
"Whatever limits us we call Fate."



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