It's trite, I know. Going though the piles of memories and reliving several stages of your life all at once. This weekend is free dump time in my fair burg and in an unusual pique of cleanliness I am purging several years of junk. And mending things I have crammed in a mending box. And listening to music from Muskeg Harpy-- the college years.
The croonings of Lauryn Hill return me to my total shit apartment sophomore year. I happened to also be fixing my first ever reusable grocery bag. (I got it in Germany on a visit to my best friend when I was 15. It features a frog and a turtle kissing under a rainbow. Google image search failed.) Two of my 5 senses were fully immersed in the past that I was like, "whoa."
I remembered my first time at a disco in my super trendy outfit I bought I Rome. I saw, again, la Pieta and David and the early works of Van Gogh. I laughed, once more, at my mother's inability it understand train directions in Frankfurt. My belly prickled with heat against the stupid money belt that was too bulky to hide under my clothes on my thin hips. I remember how much I hated that damn belt.
My mending pile includes a bunch of t-shirts I can't bear to part with. From university, from high school, from tDF. There is a quilt in the future, if I ever get around to it. Maybe if my sewing machine doesn't have to live on the kitchen table during projects. My best intentions will go back into storage along with those memories of Week Of Welcome and how cute my the-boyfriend-now-husband looked in his blue camo shirt.
The dump will be the final resting place of the smoker my dad bought in 1974. There is no redemption for it anymore. Not after it gave tDF food poisoning last year. Most of our wrecked xtratuffs will go too. Each pair smells like mushroomy forest with undertones of salmon slime. They probably have more than 500 miles on each of them, between walks to work, work in the woods, hikes on the weekends, and treks down the boat ramp. I have never thrown a pair away. I have like 6 pairs stashed here and there. It's time. No, I will not make them into a planter or some other decorative item. I do have some standards.
Yesterday, I took the computer that I had in school to the e-waste recycling. My 1998 e-machine that I wrote every lab report, my senior project, and angry emails to various ex-boyfriends. It felt good to be rid of the clutter that I hadn't turned on in more than 4 years. But a piece of me was on there. I don't really know her anymore, so I can't bring her back. She'll surface at some point. When I least suspect it and am vulnerable. The way memories do.