Contents of wooden box.
I started going through the attic in preparation for the next big move.
I had no reaction to most of the stuff. Old books that I did not think enough of to keep downstairs left me cold. Memorabilia from past offices no longer moved me. Papers that once seemed important now seemed trivial.
All that stuff was consigned to Goodwill - or the big green roll-out garbage can parked beside the front door.
But some of it was different...
I cried when I leafed through the snapshots of Brenda and me that Yancie had taken and that I didn't remember.
I laughed when I picked up the framed studio portrait of the younger woman with whom my father kept company after my stepmother died (the woman was wearing a saucy hat and smiling provocatively over her shoulder at the camera).
And the small wooden box stuffed with random articles made me wonder. It contained several pictures, tattered and worn now of Genie, the little girl from Baltimore and me - an "art" shot of a girl from Celanese in the 1960s - a model airplane engine and an electric train motor - three 50-year old bullets from my last pistol - a folding knife from a camping cook set - a key fob awarded to me by Celanese in 1965 - a penny.
(I think the model airplane engine and electric train motor were all that was left of my attempt to demonstrate the invention "airplanes without wings".)
I started going through the attic in preparation for the next big move.
I had no reaction to most of the stuff. Old books that I did not think enough of to keep downstairs left me cold. Memorabilia from past offices no longer moved me. Papers that once seemed important now seemed trivial.
All that stuff was consigned to Goodwill - or the big green roll-out garbage can parked beside the front door.
But some of it was different...
I cried when I leafed through the snapshots of Brenda and me that Yancie had taken and that I didn't remember.
I laughed when I picked up the framed studio portrait of the younger woman with whom my father kept company after my stepmother died (the woman was wearing a saucy hat and smiling provocatively over her shoulder at the camera).
And the small wooden box stuffed with random articles made me wonder. It contained several pictures, tattered and worn now of Genie, the little girl from Baltimore and me - an "art" shot of a girl from Celanese in the 1960s - a model airplane engine and an electric train motor - three 50-year old bullets from my last pistol - a folding knife from a camping cook set - a key fob awarded to me by Celanese in 1965 - a penny.
(I think the model airplane engine and electric train motor were all that was left of my attempt to demonstrate the invention "airplanes without wings".)
I always had unfortunate fascination with pretty women.
Also in the box was a page I had written (probably in the 1960's) titled "An Absurd Credo" in which I announced "The only confident mind is an insane mind" - and went on to proclaim "When God was destroyed on the absurd altar the human soul was freed from useless hope."
And there was a diary in which Yancie had written two entries. One was about a happy day with her mother at the Department of Transportation office when they went to lunch and spent all of her 20 "dollers" at Roses and Circus World. The other was about an evening at Wendys and the Dairy Queen when she was accompanied by her friend Amy and despite getting into trouble with the adults wrote "he! he! ha! ha! I had a really great DAY".
Asides
I take back my laughter at pop's late-life girlfriend. As someone would say, I am indulging in the arrogance of presumption. Besides, the girlfriend was a nice person who gave as much as she got. And her picture wasn't all that bad.
Looking for a theme to explain the things in the box, at least four of my items were expressions of grandiosity. The absurd paper was grand because it presumed that my opinion was worth writing down. The engine and the motor were grand because they were once intended to demonstrate the impossible. The picture of the Celanese girl was grand because it was pretty grandiose of me, a technician from the basement labs to approach this girl, whom I didn't know, and say, "May I take your picture" And the pictures of Genie and me were grand - well, just because that's always been my reaction when I see them.
I don't know about the bullets. In my own defense I don't think they represent anything.
Also in the box was a page I had written (probably in the 1960's) titled "An Absurd Credo" in which I announced "The only confident mind is an insane mind" - and went on to proclaim "When God was destroyed on the absurd altar the human soul was freed from useless hope."
And there was a diary in which Yancie had written two entries. One was about a happy day with her mother at the Department of Transportation office when they went to lunch and spent all of her 20 "dollers" at Roses and Circus World. The other was about an evening at Wendys and the Dairy Queen when she was accompanied by her friend Amy and despite getting into trouble with the adults wrote "he! he! ha! ha! I had a really great DAY".
Asides
I take back my laughter at pop's late-life girlfriend. As someone would say, I am indulging in the arrogance of presumption. Besides, the girlfriend was a nice person who gave as much as she got. And her picture wasn't all that bad.
Looking for a theme to explain the things in the box, at least four of my items were expressions of grandiosity. The absurd paper was grand because it presumed that my opinion was worth writing down. The engine and the motor were grand because they were once intended to demonstrate the impossible. The picture of the Celanese girl was grand because it was pretty grandiose of me, a technician from the basement labs to approach this girl, whom I didn't know, and say, "May I take your picture" And the pictures of Genie and me were grand - well, just because that's always been my reaction when I see them.
I don't know about the bullets. In my own defense I don't think they represent anything.
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