These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

Having chosen to live far from home and family (for a variety of reasons), I find myself relying on phone contact, IM, Facebook, and memories to alleviate homesickness. The "memories" part gets frequent and regular boosts due to the tchotchkes (Yiddish for useless trinkets) I'm surrounded by. Living in an RV severely limits tchotchke displays, so almost every surface is crowded with memories.

When I look at these items, I get nearly tangible picture and sound in my head of the people they represent. These are the things I would fight to rescue in a fire, after my cat. These are my memories, slices of my life, and very comforting. William Morris said "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." Well. Very few of these tchotchkes are useful, and while they're all beautiful to me, I'm sure visitors to my RV are thinking WTF?

So here are a few of my favorite things, memories included.

Birch-framed mirror, a gift from Brian and Joy Paulzine. Useful and beautiful. Brian and my husband Ron have been friends for 35 years, Ron is their older daughter's godfather, and their younger daughter is the mother of my two youngest grandchildren. They live in Minnesota, and this mirror evokes the closeness of these good friends. I can almost feel their hugs.

Buddha was acquired in San Francisco's Chinatown during a trip with dear friends Marlene and Stewart Becker of San Diego. She's my BFF. That trip included a couple of days in the Sierra Mountains, where Buddha was frequently referred to as That Effing Buddha, as we were short on space and he took up a lot of room in the trunk. This guy's been with me ever since, and is currently wearing my binoculars and guarding the litter box. Useful, no?

My personalized, signed Clint Eastwood photograph was a gift from the surgeon in San Francisco that did my first neck fusion. He had connections. My husband thinks he and Clint may be twins-separated-at-birth. And next to that is a BEAUTIFUL painting of our Mexico environs by my friend Jan Knicklebein, a daily reminder of what I'm here in a snowstorm in Arizona working so hard to get back to.

Gramma Edie's potato salad bowl. Beautiful and most useful. I can almost taste the stuff when I look at it. I do have lots of Edie-memory-items. And my newest martini glass, a recent gift from my friend BetteSandySue Parker, a glass as eclectic as she is. Extremely useful! Also in this tableau is a silver chip-dip tray (Edie) and a fish-shaped wine bottle from one of my Mexican Segundas. I may turn that into a lamp some day. Segunda-shopping with Las Amigas: now THAT'S entertainment!


This dreamcatcher was a gift from one of my patients, a Lakota in Minnesota. Can't name him, HIPPA laws. He had it blessed by a Shaman. I can still see his face and hear his laugh. He made this beautiful thing himself. I've been a dialysis nurse for 35 years, many hundreds of patients, a gazillion memories of these fragile, noble people.







Birch basket of twigs, bought during our first RV trip to Gunflint Lake on the Minnesota-Canadian border. Also an arrowhead I found there. I can smell campfires and pine forest, see the Aurora Borealis, hear loon calls, and taste fried walleye when I look at this.








This canoe shelf is crammed with memories. The Demdeco Angels each elicit moments of joy from my life: my first glimpse of a Sequoia, my dog, my cat, and the taller Free Spirit, another gift from Bette. The lowest shelf has an amber Zuni bear (which reminds me again of my friend Joy, who's always coveted it!) and some amethyst points she and I found together at an amethyst mine in Ontario. Amethyst protects one from drunkenness. Good to know, huh? Beautiful AND useful.





This is my shrine to my dad. The photo is from the 70's, sipping a beer while working on the new house. The frame has a shot-glass vase holding one of his actual cigars. And the useful little green pitcher was what he poured his milk out of every morning of his childhood. The inlaid musical jewelry box was a high school graduation gift from my godparents. And the tiny bronze chest that holds rings was in my dad's box of Army Air Corps memorabilia. No idea of it's history. Found it while sorting out the house contents after he died and mom went to the nursing home.


I was born in the year of the dragon. I'm fierce. Some framed photos of the grandkids, plus one of my son Jon in the 3rd grade. He has a house key clipped to his shorts: he was a latch-key boy. Those were my alcoholic days, and he sorta raised himself. That photo makes me ache for him, he looks so sad and lonely. 

Here it is enlarged:

It also fills me with resolve to never be that self-absorbed person again.
I will never love anyone as much as I love Jon. And I can't live near him, be a daily part of his life, lest I damage him any more than I already have. My penance.







This is my seashell IM-mobile (that has to hang flat against the wall or it tangles badly.) It reminds me of Kino, beachcombing, ATVing, all of it. Pinned to the windowbox are mostly Edie's brooches, PLUS the crocheted angel mi amiga Delfie Lujan made. She IS one. And hard to see unless you click on the photo to enlarge it is the beaded spider (on the washcloth basket) made by my friend Grace Doyle, a gifted crafter who is married to Pat Doyle, who looks JUST like my dad. I love them.

Pat Doyle

My Dad

This is a cat quilt made by my friend Jeannette Harris. The fabric was purchased in Arizona by my mom, who planned to make me a nightgown with it. But Alzheimer's Disease intervened, and it was stored away and forgotten. Mom found it later and gave it to Jeannette, who was futilely trying to teach my mom to quilt. (Something Alzheimer's victims cannot do is learn new things.) Every time I wrap this quilt around me, I remember Jeannette's loving care of my mom and OF ME, her support and belief in me, and her encouraging words when my life was so very dark. The quilt is now frayed in places, loved to bits. As is Jeannette.

That's most of it. There are also cartons and bins of photographs, baskets and boxes of shells, rocks, bones, and potsherds. (The RV has a basement...) I sometimes sit and pore over them, remembering. It's not sad, though, it's actually very fulfilling and comforting. Like Edie's potato salad.