One Art, Redux
I have been LOSING stuff all day-- or rather-discovering that stuff cannot be found. Most notably a Special Present that we secretly bought for MG and I then put in a Special Place, where it is not any more and neither of us knows where it is. I've been grieving over this all day.
I have to wonder about lost stuff-- I don't think it's just a function of our overstuffed lives and our overstuffed memories that we're constantly misplacing things. Surely this has been happening for centuries? I mean that Elizabeth Bishop poem, One Art-- one of my very favorite poems in the world-- was written several decades ago, and though it ends with an emotional one-two punch that hits hard, I can't help but think that part of her inspiration must have been that she was constantly losing actual, non-metaphorical stuff and it was driving her crazy.
And there's a notable incident in part of the Laura Ingalls Wilder story-- not the Little House books, but some later chronicle, when she's grown up and she and Rose are moving, maybe to Missouri, and she puts a $100 bill somewhere secret and then she and Rose look for it and it is just missing!
And Holden Caulfield leaving the fencing equipment on the subway...
I guess people have been losing stuff throughout history. And misplacing things. Especially when they're packing to travel. It makes you wonder about nomadic cultures. My sister-in-law and I had a fun time the other day when she was visiting, imagining the bickering between prehistoric couples: "Where's the pointy rock? The good one?" "I thought you brought it!" "No, I couldn't find it. You're always going on about how great it is for skinning and all, so I thought YOU already had it." "Why would I take it? Bringing the rocks is YOUR department! I have enough to do getting all the food together, not to mention the kids!"
Well. At least I can take some comfort in imagining that I'm part of a millenia-old tradition.
See you in September!