The Significance of Silly Little Things
I have no plan for what this post is about. I'm just going to write whatever comes to mind. I'm going to try to make it short and sweet, since these things can tend to turn into exceptionally boring trains of thought. I'll come up with a title after I write the post.
I got the front windshield of my car replaced today. The crack was in the center near the dashboard like a crystal spiderweb. It had been there less than a week. I was inclined to see the beauty of it but also afraid that it would grow and shatter while I was driving. The window repair man came four hours earlier than expected and in no time the window was good as new. I found it rather frightening how something that had seemed so drastic could be fixed so easily. I wondered if I would ever forget the glass had been broken.
Moving is exhausting. If I had the guts I'd get rid of all my crap, save for a toothbrush and a couple changes of clothes, and live each day as I met it and as it came to me. I wonder if I didn't see the things I own would I even miss them? I assign significance to the most mundane items. To throw away the cracked, six-year-old packaging that my green plastic-handled 7.99 picnic cutlery came in would not kill me and I'm sure I would not miss it in the least. But for some reason, I hate the thought of tossing it out. And I'm not talking about the cutlery itself, which my past apartment-mates abhorred and would have gladly pitched, I'm talking about the packaging.
Over Thanksgiving, my parents were finalizing their kitchen remodeling, a project that had taken a little over a year to complete. The new flooring had just been put in and I was helping my dad move a small, stand-alone cabinet that we'd had for years onto the new tiles. Putting the dishes back inside the cabinet, I noticed a thin beaded cable-tie from the long-gone tag was still around the handle. I asked my mom why she hadn't taken it off. She said she kind of liked it. It had always been there. "You know" she said. I laughed because I did know. Then I got a pair of scissors, cut the tie off, and threw it away.
I got the front windshield of my car replaced today. The crack was in the center near the dashboard like a crystal spiderweb. It had been there less than a week. I was inclined to see the beauty of it but also afraid that it would grow and shatter while I was driving. The window repair man came four hours earlier than expected and in no time the window was good as new. I found it rather frightening how something that had seemed so drastic could be fixed so easily. I wondered if I would ever forget the glass had been broken.
Moving is exhausting. If I had the guts I'd get rid of all my crap, save for a toothbrush and a couple changes of clothes, and live each day as I met it and as it came to me. I wonder if I didn't see the things I own would I even miss them? I assign significance to the most mundane items. To throw away the cracked, six-year-old packaging that my green plastic-handled 7.99 picnic cutlery came in would not kill me and I'm sure I would not miss it in the least. But for some reason, I hate the thought of tossing it out. And I'm not talking about the cutlery itself, which my past apartment-mates abhorred and would have gladly pitched, I'm talking about the packaging.
Over Thanksgiving, my parents were finalizing their kitchen remodeling, a project that had taken a little over a year to complete. The new flooring had just been put in and I was helping my dad move a small, stand-alone cabinet that we'd had for years onto the new tiles. Putting the dishes back inside the cabinet, I noticed a thin beaded cable-tie from the long-gone tag was still around the handle. I asked my mom why she hadn't taken it off. She said she kind of liked it. It had always been there. "You know" she said. I laughed because I did know. Then I got a pair of scissors, cut the tie off, and threw it away.
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| I wasn't going to include an image, but I found this watercolor still-life I did when I was probably around age 10. |
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