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November is upon us, and I have been under the weather for about a month, hence my inactivity on the site. I hope to make it up to all of you in the next week. But first, our next assignment.
We all have those things which we associate with our identity-at least I do-books in a bookcase, dogs running around, collections of odds and ends like skipping stones and tiny pebbles I spread on the mantel next to a cream pitcher. This tiny vessel looks as if it came from a hotel, and it holds about a thimbleful of cream. "It's the only thing I ever stole," my husband told me, a little embarrassed, and I keep it because this memory of him makes me smile. He was a highly moral man. I have pieces of furniture that belonged to my family: a writing table that was my father's; plates that belonged to my grandmother; I have paintings and drawings and messages from kids and grandkids; I have photographs and special pillows, and the view out my study window. I have, when all else fails, the smell of onions frying if I need to make myself feel at home with myself. You get the picture. I'm pretty sure I need this stuff. I like my eyes going easy over certain objects, I appreciate the reassurance they provide. What would have to be taken away from me before I lost my sense of self? What do I need more than anything else? I'm talking about physical objects now, except for the smell of frying onions, and the view out my window, of course. Is there anything that you can't lose? Is there anything you have lost that mattered a lot? What would have to be taken away for you to lose your sense of self, your bearings?
What do you want that you've never had?
What have you lost that you never got over?
What have you lost that you finally got back?
You can do anything with this assignment, but I'm interested in material things right now as extensions of who we are. I'm not really talking about high-end appliances or expensive cars, but the little bits and pieces of debris that we turn into treasures because of the memories they hold.