Not that you asked but...
Thirty years ago this spring my mother traveled around Europe on a lengthy visit while her husband was there on business. She got to experience a grand tour and came home bursting with stories, mementos, and grand memories she continues to recount. My brother and I stayed home with our grandmother, disappointed that we couldn't just take a few months off of school to join her. I was sure a trip to Europe would be far more educational, but my wishes were not fulfilled. Instead I was soothed with fabulous souvenirs--a colorful zippered pencil case with the latest fancy writing tools from Germany, an assortment of original Smurf toys, and photobooks of exotic places like Sussex and Koln. As a girl of 9-nearly-10 I treasured one thing more than most of the others (that pencil case was pretty awesome): a little book about the history and engagement of Lady Diana Spencer to the big-eared Prince of Wales.
Fast forward a few months. One sunny summer day I boarded an airplane to fly across the country. I was an unaccompanied minor who was boarded first and taken off the plane last. I was traveling that day between home and my grandparents' house in the mountains for a summer vacation. Added on to the airport time would have been an additional four hours of travel, to get door to door. Add it all up and you get a full day's travel. This also means I spent a full day away from the television.
Do you see where this is headed?
I missed the wedding of Lady Di and Prince Charles. Since the event occurred in the era before vcrs, dvrs, and the internet, I didn't even have a chance to watch it after I got home. I just never saw it. I recall feeling disappointed but not heartbroken. Nonetheless, this combination of anticipation brought on by a foreign souvenir and the unfulfilled attachment to the associated event has created in me an irrational interest in the upcoming wedding of Prince William.
Since the Will-Kate engagement was announced I've looked forward to getting a dose of pageantry, tradition, and celebrity spotting all in one viewing. Recently I've watched maybe a tad too much of BBC America's pre-wedding specials. I read about the mystery of Kate's wedding dress, looked over the guest list, and pondered all of the uneventful downtime and obnoxious hype that will come with viewing the event "live". But one detail eluded me in all of this: the actual date of the wedding.
Which brings me to my final factoid: I'm driving to Las Vegas this weekend. In order to beat the heat, make good time, and arrive early enough to nap before any evening activities, I plan to leave in the middle of the night. I'm looking forward to this vacation, but--
I think you see where this is headed--
I will miss the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. While the guests are arriving, I will be driving away from my metropolitan area. When the ceremony itself takes place, I will be looking out at crops and cows. While morning media personalities rehash every last detail and editors cut specials for that night's primetime lineup, I will be in the desert.
While I do own a dvr, and have scheduled it to record the wedding, I'm not sure I will end up watching it after I return. I know from experience that I don't enjoy watching events after the fact. Which might be just as well, since I think this is all a sign that I'm not meant to watch royal weddings. I am meant, instead, to have a life, where pageantry is overrated. Oh well. :)
April 25, 2011
April 16, 2011
Easy on the Cops
I don't LOOK for these kinds of news stories. They just jump out at me...
I peruse the police blotter section of my local newspaper. Usually out of curiosity about types of crimes being committed, partly out of a sense of wanting to know if there's anything I might be cautious of in my own neighborhood, but mostly in search of amusingly benign reported incidents.
For the past two weeks, Atherton--a wealthy, privacy-guarding, no-sidewalks community 30 miles south of San Francisco--has delivered. Today came news of an early morning incident between a landlord and tenant which involved frozen food. No crime was reported, and no violence actually evidenced. But the police department participates in the crime blotter report, and they were called out for this incident, therefore it gets printed in the paper. The actual food was not specified, so we are left to ponder details. David guesses a leg of lamb was involved. I suppose we'll never know.
Last week's "crime" provides more fodder for the imagination.
I peruse the police blotter section of my local newspaper. Usually out of curiosity about types of crimes being committed, partly out of a sense of wanting to know if there's anything I might be cautious of in my own neighborhood, but mostly in search of amusingly benign reported incidents.
For the past two weeks, Atherton--a wealthy, privacy-guarding, no-sidewalks community 30 miles south of San Francisco--has delivered. Today came news of an early morning incident between a landlord and tenant which involved frozen food. No crime was reported, and no violence actually evidenced. But the police department participates in the crime blotter report, and they were called out for this incident, therefore it gets printed in the paper. The actual food was not specified, so we are left to ponder details. David guesses a leg of lamb was involved. I suppose we'll never know.
Last week's "crime" provides more fodder for the imagination.
12:19 am FRIDAY: A pedestrian was reported not to be doing anything strange other than wearing black pants and a white dress shirt while walking at an odd hour.Kinda makes me feel bad for the Atherton police that this is what their honored profession works out to. On the other hand, it sure beats being shot at.
Excess Baggage - now updated!
Not that you asked, but...
I am a terrible packrat.
Can anyone think of any earthly reason--and I mean a good, healthy one--why I have held onto a Sanrio notepad containing only two drawings made during my 6 month stint living in Georgia in 1980? Did I mention that the cover is torn off and the pages are falling out? What about a wall map of the world, dated 1955? Or the homecoming football game program from my sophomore year of high school? No? Neither can I.
While some people have the admirable ability to shed belongings, and others don't accumulate them in the first place, I hold onto things, even when reason and practicality dictate letting go. In particular I have kept a tight grip on an assortment of physical manifestations of my childhood. I've held onto things from adulthood too, but these tend to come in the form of books, music, and furniture, which seem more useful, even if more costly to transport.
My formative years are packed away for the most part in a stack of covered plastic tubs. Labeled "Michelle's Mementos", the tubs contain a hodgepodge of meaningful and superfluous objects. There's my Mrs Beasley doll (still in decent shape after nearly 40 years), a trophy for MVP of the 8th grade softball team (my winning was I believe a matter of favoritism rather than talent), a wood penguin coin bank made for me by my friend's sister in 1986, and a delicate ballerina cake topper from my 5th birthday at my grandparents' house in New York.
In some of these tubs I expect I'll find my Girl Scout sash with badges pinned rather than sewn on (mine was not a very domestic household), a finger painted and stuffed fish constructed in pre-school, an assortment of writings (7th grade was a particularly prolific period), toys (Adam has taken a shine to the soft Teletubbies keychains, but I've not let him near Super Nut), and small knick knacks.
The fact that the stuff is in distinctive containers is evidence of progress made a decade ago. As tends to happen with memento purgings, I have no recollection of anything I got rid of back then. (And how the Sanrio notepad survived, I know not. I'll blame it on purge-fatigue.) This is what I remind myself of as I sift through the stuff and make "Keep" and "Get rid of" stacks. Old copies of The Epitaph...gone. Completed get-to-know-you questionnaires from a series of parties I held with friends in the mid 80s...gone. The button for a magazine that no longer exists...gone. The pages of the Sanrio notepad have gone into the scratch paper drawer (they don't make paper like they used to--for good reason). And my drawing of "Amy" from Warner Robins, Georgia--who apparently had long blonde hair, glasses, freckles, and wore blue that day...gone. Bye Amy; I hardly knew ye.
Several hours later
I've now gone through four tubs. One turned out to be missing toiletries, including lots of great shades of lipstick, which was an exciting if counter-productive find. (I did purge a bit upon inspection, throwing away old lotions, my beloved cookie-shaped Avon lip gloss from the late 70s, plus a makeup kit from the 80s--after I shadowed my eyelids turquoise, yellow, and magenta.) I filled one of the emptied tubs back up with garage saleable items, such as a beautiful ceramic mask, some cute gardening magnets, and a life-sized stuffed macaw on a wooden perch (I named him Herbert back around 1988). Now residing in the trash bag are my high school graduation cap, an old red wallet, and a stack of wall calendars from college, among many other items (yea me!). I kept the photos from inside the wallet, a bag of foreign coins, and a letter my brother sent me from basic training which I will transfer to my letters and notes box.
I don't know why I keep this stuff--the photos, the coins, the letters. I don't want to consciously give up on certain memories, certain attachments, even when I know I'd feel better once I did. I know that if it went missing, I wouldn't actually miss any of this (mostly because I've forgotten it exists). But worrying about any of this will not help. I've got the stuff, the baggage, and I will deal with it, a little at a time. In the face of such slow growth, I am soothed by the knowledge that I am at least growing, keeping less stuff than I did in the past, willingly throwing things away. I'm letting go (yea me!).
P.S. I hope Herbert likes his fellow garage sale buddies. They all came from a good home.
UPDATE
I've gone through three more tubs. Barbie and Ken have been found! Also found were their pals Darcy (blonde) and Darcy (brunette), Archie, Skipper, and Cher in all her sequined glory (yes, as in Sonny and Cher). I located more of my Girl Scout badges, a stack of junior high school friend photos, my (very cheesy and very homemade) fifth grade poetry book with sticker from the Young Author's Fair, and an articulated moving snake toy which is as amusing now as it was 30 years ago (in other words, it's a keeper). One more copy of our high school newspaper (The Epitaph) was found, this one from senior year; David was upset that I had tossed the others so he said I should keep this one. I'll remind him of that next time he complains about all the crap we've got stored away.
I feel good that I'm not contributing to landfill with my purgings. It's largely recyclable stuff, or kid stuff I can pass on (such as a set of mini colored pencils--Adam took a shine to them). An oversized Skipper doll went to the trash because she was oozing a sticky substance from her joints. Gone to recycling heaven are a big stack of high school play programs and posters, my customs declaration form and boarding pass from a trip to Mexico in 1984, as well as the name and address of Jose Francisco, who apparently wanted me to write to him in Cozumel. In the give-away box went one giant yellow comb from Great America (I'm guessing it was a statement against the comb-in-back-pocket style of the time).
Disposition still to be determined: dot matrix photo printouts of myself with various friends, certificates of participation in a national academic talent search (yea ME), and the log of my adventures on that Mexico trip (including the unsolicited attention of a 19-year old who told my mother he didn't care that I was "only 13"). I've now got a stack of sheet music, mostly marching band stuff, from my own flautist days as well as music I got from my grandparents' attic. Is there any reason to keep these things?
I am a terrible packrat.
Can anyone think of any earthly reason--and I mean a good, healthy one--why I have held onto a Sanrio notepad containing only two drawings made during my 6 month stint living in Georgia in 1980? Did I mention that the cover is torn off and the pages are falling out? What about a wall map of the world, dated 1955? Or the homecoming football game program from my sophomore year of high school? No? Neither can I.
While some people have the admirable ability to shed belongings, and others don't accumulate them in the first place, I hold onto things, even when reason and practicality dictate letting go. In particular I have kept a tight grip on an assortment of physical manifestations of my childhood. I've held onto things from adulthood too, but these tend to come in the form of books, music, and furniture, which seem more useful, even if more costly to transport.
My formative years are packed away for the most part in a stack of covered plastic tubs. Labeled "Michelle's Mementos", the tubs contain a hodgepodge of meaningful and superfluous objects. There's my Mrs Beasley doll (still in decent shape after nearly 40 years), a trophy for MVP of the 8th grade softball team (my winning was I believe a matter of favoritism rather than talent), a wood penguin coin bank made for me by my friend's sister in 1986, and a delicate ballerina cake topper from my 5th birthday at my grandparents' house in New York.
In some of these tubs I expect I'll find my Girl Scout sash with badges pinned rather than sewn on (mine was not a very domestic household), a finger painted and stuffed fish constructed in pre-school, an assortment of writings (7th grade was a particularly prolific period), toys (Adam has taken a shine to the soft Teletubbies keychains, but I've not let him near Super Nut), and small knick knacks.
The fact that the stuff is in distinctive containers is evidence of progress made a decade ago. As tends to happen with memento purgings, I have no recollection of anything I got rid of back then. (And how the Sanrio notepad survived, I know not. I'll blame it on purge-fatigue.) This is what I remind myself of as I sift through the stuff and make "Keep" and "Get rid of" stacks. Old copies of The Epitaph...gone. Completed get-to-know-you questionnaires from a series of parties I held with friends in the mid 80s...gone. The button for a magazine that no longer exists...gone. The pages of the Sanrio notepad have gone into the scratch paper drawer (they don't make paper like they used to--for good reason). And my drawing of "Amy" from Warner Robins, Georgia--who apparently had long blonde hair, glasses, freckles, and wore blue that day...gone. Bye Amy; I hardly knew ye.
Several hours later
I've now gone through four tubs. One turned out to be missing toiletries, including lots of great shades of lipstick, which was an exciting if counter-productive find. (I did purge a bit upon inspection, throwing away old lotions, my beloved cookie-shaped Avon lip gloss from the late 70s, plus a makeup kit from the 80s--after I shadowed my eyelids turquoise, yellow, and magenta.) I filled one of the emptied tubs back up with garage saleable items, such as a beautiful ceramic mask, some cute gardening magnets, and a life-sized stuffed macaw on a wooden perch (I named him Herbert back around 1988). Now residing in the trash bag are my high school graduation cap, an old red wallet, and a stack of wall calendars from college, among many other items (yea me!). I kept the photos from inside the wallet, a bag of foreign coins, and a letter my brother sent me from basic training which I will transfer to my letters and notes box.
I don't know why I keep this stuff--the photos, the coins, the letters. I don't want to consciously give up on certain memories, certain attachments, even when I know I'd feel better once I did. I know that if it went missing, I wouldn't actually miss any of this (mostly because I've forgotten it exists). But worrying about any of this will not help. I've got the stuff, the baggage, and I will deal with it, a little at a time. In the face of such slow growth, I am soothed by the knowledge that I am at least growing, keeping less stuff than I did in the past, willingly throwing things away. I'm letting go (yea me!).
P.S. I hope Herbert likes his fellow garage sale buddies. They all came from a good home.
UPDATE
I've gone through three more tubs. Barbie and Ken have been found! Also found were their pals Darcy (blonde) and Darcy (brunette), Archie, Skipper, and Cher in all her sequined glory (yes, as in Sonny and Cher). I located more of my Girl Scout badges, a stack of junior high school friend photos, my (very cheesy and very homemade) fifth grade poetry book with sticker from the Young Author's Fair, and an articulated moving snake toy which is as amusing now as it was 30 years ago (in other words, it's a keeper). One more copy of our high school newspaper (The Epitaph) was found, this one from senior year; David was upset that I had tossed the others so he said I should keep this one. I'll remind him of that next time he complains about all the crap we've got stored away.
I feel good that I'm not contributing to landfill with my purgings. It's largely recyclable stuff, or kid stuff I can pass on (such as a set of mini colored pencils--Adam took a shine to them). An oversized Skipper doll went to the trash because she was oozing a sticky substance from her joints. Gone to recycling heaven are a big stack of high school play programs and posters, my customs declaration form and boarding pass from a trip to Mexico in 1984, as well as the name and address of Jose Francisco, who apparently wanted me to write to him in Cozumel. In the give-away box went one giant yellow comb from Great America (I'm guessing it was a statement against the comb-in-back-pocket style of the time).
Disposition still to be determined: dot matrix photo printouts of myself with various friends, certificates of participation in a national academic talent search (yea ME), and the log of my adventures on that Mexico trip (including the unsolicited attention of a 19-year old who told my mother he didn't care that I was "only 13"). I've now got a stack of sheet music, mostly marching band stuff, from my own flautist days as well as music I got from my grandparents' attic. Is there any reason to keep these things?
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