The Visible Woman...August 29, 2003

Friday, August 29, 2003

A Journal from Austin, Texas. A Project of LBFFP Stealth Publishing.
food	reading	writing	time	exercise	health and mood

My mother spun and wove and she did miniatures and so a little display of a miniature room with looms and spinning wheels and a handwoven rug seemed like a natural thing to own, to assemble, to leave behind for me to pack (to give to my sister), wondering that there was miniature handwoven material in the (closed when I found it) trunk. Today at Uncommon Objects I saw a miniature spinning wheel and was tempted to buy it. But why? When I'd just had the headache of packing this whole little display to dispatch to Colorado. The temptation to collect is too, too strong.	worthless dust-collecting space-hogging detritus I had another topic for today but this phrase, stolen from an e-mail of a friend, just begged for inclusion. That friend could remain anonymouse but won't. SuRu, recently moved, sent an elegant essay on unpacking boxes. Your stuff will get you down. It feeds your soul, fires your memory, clothes your body, grooms it, yada yada. But it will still weigh you down. If you are going to go lightly through this world, then you have to learn to let go, discard, dismiss. You have to learn to understand an object's lovliness, usefulness, value and ultimately the fact that no object can hold a candle to a healthy, alive body experiencing it.
JUST TYPING One thing is amusing. Two is a pair. Three has a certain flair. More is a collection for sure. Another thing all together. It will be harder to keep your life pure. If you continue to gather.
		Food Diary. *About 1:30pm* cottage cheese with hot sauce, a few guacamole tortilla chip fragments crushed in as well as a few onions; three of those little mini carrots that are really big carrots formed by a magic machine (and don't you ever wonder if kids will grow up puzzling at the oddly-shaped carrots in their picture books with greenery attached?). About 9pm [Jeffrey's] A vodka tonic, a glass of Newton Claret, half of a (small) beef tartare app, half of a (rather larger) vegie terrine app, half of a (smallish) cheese plate with garnishes (very delicious). Kind of a weird diet today. But, as some readers know, I believe in a food pyramid with dairy products and raw things as the foundation.
		Time flies.... I was slow to move out of bed today. It was nearly eight when I got up and dressed, and nearly nine before I could deal with a few simple e-mails. By the time I got off to the club and back, it was noon. Then I agreed to go volunteer at 3:30pm for AGLIFF and I had to shower and eat. Then as soon as I was off to the volunteer slot, the evening's activities were sealed with possible movies, party, whatever. I did get off early enough to go to Uncommon Objects on S. Congress. I actually bought a book, published in the thirties with the wonderful title Learn to Lose Your Mind.

		Reading. Finished Mr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonder by Lawrence Weschler. Deciding what to read next is always hard.
		The journal took some catching up today. It almost felt like writing but I know better.
		Exercise One hour on recumbent bike and ab and lower back exercises.
		Felt fine physically, digestion good. Couldn't get rolling with productive activities. When I agreed to be somewhere at noon, I felt good about it. Needing to be somewhere sort of frees up the time until then.

Why do human beings collect so much useless stuff? I think we do it because it symbolizes the life we lead: marks it, validates it, chronicles it. And yet it's inadequate to describe the experience. These things do serve to bring up memories even when they have no intrinsic value; and even when they do. That is why we cling to "things"; not because of their true value, but because they symbolize a life lead.

I opened all those boxes I'd packed - spent time to pack them, spent money to move them - and what did I have? A collection of mostly valueless objects, but I feel nostalgic about each of them because I want to hold what they represent. I grouped them together as I unwrapped each piece and saw a chronology of changes in my life (and in my tastes). From childlike like to sophisticated, as sophisticated as I am likely to get. I don't want all this stuff! This worthless dust-collecting space-hogging detritus! But when I try to throw it away it feels like I'm throwing away my life, not some plastic pumpkin shaped bendable figure.

I believe we collect objects to symbolize our life because we can hold the objects, show them to others, make solid what only exists in our hearts and our minds. Each piece is a mini-monument to our achievements, and we think by having these we will be remembered. We display them - figurines, photographs, a picture we drew as a child - like so many bronze statues erected to our glory. But in time even the great statesman immortalized in his finest grandeur can be forgotten.

We want to be immortal. That is human vanity. We want to be remembered through the eons by all humankind. Of the millions who have and will walk the earth only the rare few achieve any small measure of that. We each, in our vanity, build a great pyramid with paltry objects de' arte, tomes, photographs, and gravestones. But what value is this to eternity? What importance does it have that we each have lived? The light bulb was a great invention but what does it matter who invented it? He isn't here to do more great things; he's gone to dust as we all will.

No, it is vanity, and fruitless to strive to live forever through things. A plaque on the wall will be tossed away when the building is razed, or a wealthier patron contributes more money. No, it is folly. What is important then? Why go on at all? Why buy things, why make friends, why do anything? Because is does not matter to history that you lived but it matters to today. It matters to the people that know you now: those who depend on you, love you, enjoy you. Now you contribute to existence as no monument to you ever will. And if we live fully engaged, here and now, we have achieved all that any human being can hope too; and we are immortal for our lifetime, and the time we are alive in the memories of others.

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