First there were my scissors. They were small ones, tucked with my toothbrush and other bathroom goods in my carry-on. Because all I had was a carry-on. I was eating Panda Express with you-know-who-you-are and JennyE. in the waiting warehouse of the Denver airport when I remembered that they were in the bag. I left them there with Colorado, and headed to the security checkpoint feeling unmaterialistic and self-satisfied.
Then there was the face soap and moisturizer, both of which were 2 oz. too big for the satisfaction of the x-ray machine. 'I have more at home,' I told myself, and refused to be annoyed by the passive aggressive contempt of the security woman who told me that had been the liquid standard for some 2.something years. Well, we all have our bad days. I boarded the airplane feeling unmaterialistic, self-satisfied, and full of dignity despite the slight absurdity of three toiletry losses in an hour.
After I returned home, it took only a few days to discover further losses. The man my family had hired to fix up our house for rental had returned to drug-use and taken some of my possessions in the process. Specifically, he took my laptop (broken; I had been using my mother's for some months, anyway), burgundy dress from the independent shop on Main St. in Ventura, my grey Anthropologie dress (the most beautiful article of clothing I have ever owned), my blackandwhite tweed heels, and the silver heels my mother had bought me a few months before. I can't say I was exactly annoyed. I was appalled to find out that my roommate had lost even more. I was disappointed in the thief. But it was almost refreshing to find my possessions that much thinner. I was moving at the time, and filling the closet with those clothes I did have reminded me of how little of it I really used or cared for. The loss made me all the more determined to wear the clothes I love as often as possible - and not to keep them strangely 'special', set apart for occasional use.
The other day, my mother held out a small metal object to me and asked, 'is this yours?' It was one half of my favorite pair of earring studs. She had found it on the floor of the laundry room, it's twin stud apparently having been swallowed by the washing machine. I stared at the stud, feeling stupid for having put the earrings in my pocket in the first place (I never do that.), and wondering just what might be lost next. And if this continues at such a rate, what might my belongings consist of in, say, a year? How long before I have nothing left at all? And in all reality, what would that matter?
Then there was the face soap and moisturizer, both of which were 2 oz. too big for the satisfaction of the x-ray machine. 'I have more at home,' I told myself, and refused to be annoyed by the passive aggressive contempt of the security woman who told me that had been the liquid standard for some 2.something years. Well, we all have our bad days. I boarded the airplane feeling unmaterialistic, self-satisfied, and full of dignity despite the slight absurdity of three toiletry losses in an hour.
After I returned home, it took only a few days to discover further losses. The man my family had hired to fix up our house for rental had returned to drug-use and taken some of my possessions in the process. Specifically, he took my laptop (broken; I had been using my mother's for some months, anyway), burgundy dress from the independent shop on Main St. in Ventura, my grey Anthropologie dress (the most beautiful article of clothing I have ever owned), my blackandwhite tweed heels, and the silver heels my mother had bought me a few months before. I can't say I was exactly annoyed. I was appalled to find out that my roommate had lost even more. I was disappointed in the thief. But it was almost refreshing to find my possessions that much thinner. I was moving at the time, and filling the closet with those clothes I did have reminded me of how little of it I really used or cared for. The loss made me all the more determined to wear the clothes I love as often as possible - and not to keep them strangely 'special', set apart for occasional use.
The other day, my mother held out a small metal object to me and asked, 'is this yours?' It was one half of my favorite pair of earring studs. She had found it on the floor of the laundry room, it's twin stud apparently having been swallowed by the washing machine. I stared at the stud, feeling stupid for having put the earrings in my pocket in the first place (I never do that.), and wondering just what might be lost next. And if this continues at such a rate, what might my belongings consist of in, say, a year? How long before I have nothing left at all? And in all reality, what would that matter?
Whatever. It took me a moment to figure out who I was... at first, I thought that someone else must be extra special to receive a personal reference in your blog, and then I re-read it twice and figured out that I am the special one after all! Yay.
ReplyDeleteyou read my blog post twice? you need a novel. or a magazine. brad and angie are on the front of People with their twins. try that.
ReplyDeleteyou would never have nothing. i find far too many cute things that i want to buy for you. so you will always have at least a little something.
ReplyDeletemaybe that's why it doesn't bug me when i lose something. you're my security against utter deprivation.
ReplyDeleteWhatever, again, Molly. I already read about Brad and Angie, 6 days ago when they delivered the magazine to my grandma... I have to read it, you are one of my favorite forms of entertainment! At least you don't wear me out like the clothes girl who takes too many pictures of herself.
ReplyDelete