:: Monday, November 10, 2003 ::

My submission to Another 48 Hours - What would you save if your house was burning down?

I've never been one for keeping things. I can remember distinctly being reprimanded as a child for throwing away perfectly useful things: toys, books, clothing, even cutlery. I would comb through my room and "clean" it, getting rid of anything that didn't have a place. Perhaps this was a reaction against the endless clutter of my household, where ten year old magazines still held their spots on our bookshelves, and knick-knacks sat in windowsills collecting dust. Whatever it was, I learned to detach myself from things.

Because they are just things, after all. I won't claim I don't enjoy them; I look with pride at my swelling bookcase, the pages and pages that have been absorbed by my brain and left to rest there. I love the feeling of consuming the last sentence, closing the cover and placing it on that shelf with finality. I equally love my collection of CDs, a reflection of evolving taste from the Eighth Grade up until now. I could organise them autobiographically, High Fidelity style, and relive the moments one by one, song by song.

But these are all just things. They can all be replaced. I think about them burning and simply enjoy the idea of starting from scratch. Buying a new, polished bookcase and filling it up page by page.

There are some things in this room that aren't so easily replaced though. The journals I've written in since the Sixth Grade, the bear I've hugged to sleep every night since Kindergarten, and my photos; these things cannot be replaced. And if I could save them, I would. But not first.

No, the first thing I would save is not even a year old yet. But it is by far the most important.

Blue, purple and green chinese lanterns quilted onto a soft yellow flannel backing, it is the blanket my mother made me. By far last year's best Christmas present, I can remember tearing past the paper and opening the box slowly, tracing the seams and seeing the care that my mother took as she worked the pattern. It's the perfect size to fit around my shoulders in the morning when I'm sipping my cup of hot tea, steaming into my face and making me sleepy. The perfect size to fit around my shoulders at night when I'm crying because I'm sad or frustrated or lonely and there's no one here to listen. The perfect size to bundle up my babies in when I'm older, and brush the soft flannel across their cheeks. The perfect size to snuggle into against the cold November night and watch the orange glow of my house slowly burning to the ground.


~song~ Wilco - More Like The Moon

:: Katy 1:17 a.m. [+] :: ::