I have a whiskey tin...
That a friend brought me from Ireland. We finished the bottle in a sitting two weeks before he and I parted ways. I used to think that goodbyes were too painful - you know, take only memories, leave only footprints? So when I left that place I said goodbye to one person (an ex with whom I parted on good terms)and left almost everything behind, parceled out to friends and neighbors "nah, I'm gettin' new stuff." The box I kept, because I was looking for a place to keep some memorabilia that packed easily. In it: Coins from many nations, some of which I have been to, including antiques and some defunct money systems (Irish punts, Italian Lire, Korean Won and so forth), a pack of matches, a gymbal, a bearing, a birth certificate with my adopted father's name on it instead of my mother's first husband, unit patches and stickers, a stone bear, a picture of me and my sibs when I was 12, a picture of my wife as a teenager, a vial of turquoise from Phoenix, A very heavy silver necklace I bought in Texas, a dragon pendant I found in a public pool in South Carolina, a four-leaf clover I found in New Mexico, and an antique-finish pinky ring my grandmother gave to me at my grandfather's funeral that used to be his. It's a strange piece, definitely belongs to the Jet Age cocktail hour bachelor lifestyle that my grandfather was known for, even after he married my grandmother. It is just understated enough to not be tacky.
I take this box out every once in a while when I want to remember the people I met and left behind, and wonder if they remember me. The rest of my crap can burn, but the box goes with me. Ecch, that's maudlin.

Sorry.

I wouldn't take the cats - but the wife would probably ask me to go back and get them...and I would, because deep down, where it really, really counts, I am an utter idiot.
(aeon chicken Like the Millenium Falcon, only slower and noisier, Sat 10 May 2008, 6:47, Reply)