Tag: requiem

“…and I love these earrings, that nobody loves but me.” Debbie Hunt in Singles.

Debbie Hunt had her earrings, I had my chair. This ugly brown chair was incredibly comfortable. It was a fabulous place to curl up and read a book and when I put some sort of throw over it, you could barely even tell it was that industrial-never-ever-will-rip 1970s fabric.

I got this chair when I lived at 40 Hobart Lane in Amherst, Mass and carried it with me when I moved to South Boston, Somerville, and all the way across the country to Portland where it lived happily in three separate places. But now I seem to have entered the adult life stage of “matching furniture” and it was time for the chair to go.

No one on Craig’s List wanted to pay for it. The Community Warehouse didn’t want it. No one on Craig’s List wanted it for free, either. Last Saturday, I paid someone $15.00 to cart away my beloved chair. I think he was after the money more than the chair.

I’ve had this calculator since my junior year of high school. It was the third calculator my parents bought me, as its predecessors kept getting broken because books would fall on them in my locker. (Notice the clever use of passive voice there–I certainly had nothing to do with those books falling.) My mother told me it was the last calculator she would buy me. And it was. I used it from then until tonight when I accidentally dropped it. The solar panel broke and the calculator, she is no more. Farewell, friend. You served me through many a math problem.

I don’t normally steal things, but when I knew I was quitting Bread & Circus, Whole Foods Market, I did take home this apron. Though part of working at B&C was a low point in my life, another part of it was something I look back on with nostalgia. One of the better parts was the uniform. I liked wearing the chef coats and the crisp white aprons.
I cooked with this apron for years, but my whitening powers are weak and it quickly faded into a grubby gray, then got even dingier and I had to stop using it, for fear that no one would eat anything I made while wearing it. It sat in my closet for a few years because I didn’t want to just throw it away. Today I did, but not without taking a picture.

Here’s another item that went to the great trash can….

Matt gave me this t-shirt shortly after we got together. For years, when someone asked me what McGregor was I told them that Matt got it when he did crew in college because the winning team would take the losing team’s shirts. But I just found out this week that I had completely fabricated that story and that his mother sent it to him when she was at Antioch College. Oh, well okay. So I was wrong about its origins.

For some reason, long sleeved shirts are not plentiful in my life which means that this one got worn a lot, September through June. Whenever the weather was slightly colder in the morning when I exercised, I put on this shirt. The advantage of working out outside in the morning is that no one sees your workout wear. So it didn’t matter when the oil stain appeared.
The other day I was putting it on for perhaps the thousandth time and my elbow ripped a big hole in the armpit. I wore it a few times after that, but the damage was done. I said a sad goodbye to my trusty t-shirt.

I get attached to things, especially clothing. Being attached means that I wear some things until they are falling apart. Then they are in too bad of shape to donate them to Goodwill. So I have to just throw them away, which seems a horrible thing to do after so many years of good service. There should be a ritual. Lacking one, I’ve started taking pictures of the items before I consign them to the great trash can.

This was my grandfather’s jacket. When I found it in my aunt’s closet it was missing the wool lining, but I wanted it anyway. I loved the contrasting lining and the green color. It was also perfect for my winter in the Pacific Northwest: it kept the rain and wind off of me, but was light enough I didn’t get too hot when walking from place to place. I wore it every day for years. I also had a Chalice Lighter pin on the collar for a time, but it disappeared somewhere along the way.
Now it is frayed at the cuffs and faded. So off it goes. Thank you, lovely jacket, for keeping me warm and dry.