The last time I moved, it was three weeks after my dad died, a rainy day in late August. I was both out of my mind and totally in control, a weird state that shock sometimes affords one in times of crisis. Some of my friends volunteered to help -- being a minimalist in all things, I didn't have a ton to move, but everyone, even the one bowl, one robe types, when it comes down to it, has a lot to move. One of my more compassionate friends (Count Dracula, anyone?) said in his ever-loving way of my old abode, This place is a cesspool. You should burn everything and start over. Note to self -- avoid having crackpots help you move, even when they have a trailer.
Of course, we made it to the last trip, the one in which everything has to go. A few pieces of furniture and a lone box sat in the middle of the room and someone asked what it was. My death box, I said. I have all the stuff from dead people that I would hate to lose. My plan was in case of fire, I could grab it and go. It's the main thing I would miss if it were lost and truly irreplaceable. Everyone avoided the death box, opting for the furniture and bags and bags of hangers, most of them wire. For someone who had gottten rid of a lot of stuff, I had too many and made another mental note -- No more wire hangers! (via Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest) Wherever I live, I keep the death box close and the above angel lithograph sits on top of it, flanked by two miniature coffin-like boxes, one containing holy dirt, the other my dad's ashes from his plane crash site. We all laughed when we realized nobody was touching the death box! I picked it up and put it in Snowflake, strapped it in a seatbelt. The death box and I rode to what would be my new home. Some things, I was to realize, you would always have to carry by yourself.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Jewels are wonderful things. They have a life of their own." Gaslight
Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: My Beautiful Laundrette
Benedictions and Maledictions
Congratulations Tigers!
I've always been a very religious person and I'm going to get that lithograph as a tattoo on my upper front torso.
ReplyDeleteToday's "Quote of the Day": What I need is someone who can read my mind.--MB
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure that my sperms can swim all the way to her eggs.
ReplyDeleteMine can.
ReplyDeleteMine can swim under water.
ReplyDeleteLet's have a swim meet.
ReplyDeleteCan I do the breast stroke?
ReplyDeleteI'll just stick to my plain old crawl.
ReplyDeleteMeet me at the convent.
ReplyDeleteThis has been an AP Production.
ReplyDeleteHey M,
ReplyDeleteMaybe the move was symbolic of the death of your friendship with someone who could suck the life out of you... And the death box to your regeneration, your new life, where YOU decide what's worth keeping! What a wonderful post! --R
Dear Michelle,
ReplyDeleteThe Tigers are on a roll and I was there to see it all. If you are interested in seeing a game, your interest will be my command. Another series of lovely posts and views as always. Charming as you always are, Bravo!
TIGERS WHIPPED THE YANKEE'S ASS!!! HELL YEAH BABY!!!!
ReplyDeleteI think this is such a great post Michelle. Sometimes when things are tough you really do feel like you need to burn everything to the ground and start over... I know I've felt that way. Glad to see you made it through it. Love the description and naming of "The Death Box"
O Cajun Queen mighty ISIS Foxy LADY your rockin me round the clockERS and TIGERS GO Ya-Man Good day no onw wants to carry A Death Box but you have the power SHAZAMMM R2 C2!
ReplyDeleteThe Death Box.. What a wonderful way to store memories of departed loved ones. Much better than the bottom of a dresser drawer, which is where my mementos are kept.
ReplyDeleteI am scared to death of one day losing it all in a fire. The pictures, the letters, the books... scared to death...
ReplyDeleteHoney, so adorable! Kisses sweet, your Bon, kiss kiss
ReplyDeleteThose metal hangers come in handy for unlocking car doors, scratching skin under a cast, and sadistic rituals.
ReplyDelete