Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk
I was righteously pleased with my clever box labeling, and my label that got a lot of laughs from a lot of people for a lot of years. I was a young adult packing to move out of my college dorm room, and was beginning to accumulate things. My things. The things that would express my adult self and define my style. My box required no careful scrutiny. It was plain cardboard, about two feet square, labeled in large letters on five sides with a thick-tipped black marker. It boldly identified its contents as:
I went so far as to draw a (rather good, if I say so myself) cartoon treasure chest on top.
That box was my first adult possession. I was taking it with me out into the world. It was a statement of my autonomy. Everything I owned then fit in a brown Honda subcompact with plenty of room to spare. It took 15 minutes to pack my life: a backpack of clothes with my sleeping bag tied on, a small bag of books, skis in the rack on the roof, and my box of Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk.
I was launched on the grand adventure of making my own decisions about the hows and wheres of my life. Rebelliously inflamed, I blew off both graduate programs I had the opportunity to pursue and ran away to be a ski bum. I'd gotten a job at Wolf Creek ski area in Southwestern Colorado. My life as an independent adult, chasing my own pursuits and adventures, stretched out in front of me as long and wide open and full of unlimited possibilities as the road across the rez to get there.
The life is not for the sedentary, nor those burdened with possessions. Ski area folk don't make enough money to be very settled and it is, after all, seasonal work which can involve moving twice a year from summer to winter jobs. Sometimes my version of the life required many more moves than that. My worst year (or best, depending on how you look at it), I moved 8 times. But since it was a 15-minute job, it wasn't a daunting task either for me or my traveling companion, a tomcat named Merlin.
Merlin and I rented a walk-in closet for part of one winter. It was the two of us and six other lift ops and their pets crammed into a small one-bedroom place. Merlin and I figured we scored with the closet because at least we had a door that closed. The Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk box with a bandana draped over it made a perfect nightstand, and Merlin and I were happy there until we weren't, at which point we loaded up our stuff and went to the next flop.
A couple of years later, I coincidentally wrecked my knee about the same time my flaming rebellion began to flicker and wane. Trying to recover from injury in a sleeping bag on someone else's floor sucks. I rented a 400 square foot cabin of my own just outside of South Fork. It was only one room, but my scant Honda load didn't go far to furnish it. Mom kindly bought herself a new bedroom set and brought me her old one. I had hit the big time with my adulting project. I had real wooden furniture. A real nightstand, and a real bed with headboard, footboard, and two mattresses. I had a dresser, and I had a closet to house the clothes, backpack, and the Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk box.
It was the beginning of the end.
I would never again be able to move in the Honda. I thought this made my adulthood official, owning furniture and having a lease in my own name.
I had to have help to move after that. It took a truck and at least one other person to help carry furniture. Root hairs were working themselves into the soil of my life. My dad teased me about nesting.
It was a remarkably slippery slope. My fancy free days were over. Within a year I had living room furniture, too, with a couch and end tables and a coffee table. I had dishes and pots and pans and bookshelves and books to fill them and even—-gasp!—-a recipe box (also courtesy of Mom). A year after that, moving from winter to summer I had so much stuff I had to beg space in the corner of a friend's garage for a couple of pieces of furniture and the Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk box plus a dozen of its kin. For the first decade of my official adulthood, I was unable to have all of my possessions in the same place. There was a ten-year succession of attics, garages, and rented storage spaces.
The embers of my escapist rebellion finally burned out completely, and I decided to move back to my Northern Arizona home. I wanted to go back to school and repair my relationship with my parents. But the roots of my adulthood had grown thick and strong by then. It took a 25' U-Haul and driver each for it and the two vehicles I owned to move.
I hadn't opened the Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk box for close on 15 years. I'd moved it more times than I could count and paid a fortune to store it. I no longer had any memory of what it contained but kept it with me because it was full of treasure. It said so right on the box.
The first place my roommate and I rented when we landed in Northern Arizona was a huge three-story house south of Flagstaff. We were both excited about this opulent spaciousness. She was in the same boat as I and we were looking forward to unpacking all our stuff for the first time in a very long time.
The Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk box, now shabby and careworn with the years, had become an enigmatic mystery. It was well packed, so shaking it didn't divulge any clues about its contents, and neither did its heft. We saved it for last and threw a party for the ceremonial opening. We invited friends, family, and neighbors over to discover at last what treasures were in it. After the dinner dishes were cleared, everyone gathered around the dining room table, tight with anticipation. With much fanfare (my dad put on the 1812 Overture for dramatic effect), I opened the treasure box to find . . .
Wine bottles. Old empty wine bottles. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper for the ages. My shame burned hot. I couldn't begin to recall what special occasions these ancient wine bottles had attended, but we all got a good laugh out of it. Although I wouldn't get sober until years later, it was my first slap, the first inkling I had that maybe I needed to quit drinking so much.
Mom had the gift of knowing what to keep and what to throw away. It is a gift I did not inherit and nor could she train me. The box of Miscellaneous Treasures and other Junk exposed my inner packrat, and disabused me of the notion that possessions make the adult. It was a low blow.
The house I live in now is a taproot grown deep into the soil of my native land. I haven't moved for almost thirty years and I'm so stuck here now I wouldn't know how to live anywhere else. How to be anywhere else. How to breathe the air anywhere else.
This house is plenty big enough for one person and all the crap one person could possibly ever need. I'm proud I've kept myself comfortably contained in this space for so long in spite of my hoarding tendencies. When the miscellaneous treasures and other junk start to crowd me out I de-crap, and I'm getting better at keeping the treasure and passing the junk along to thrift stores or the recycler.
Blessed Litha, everyone! MoonLit sends you our warmest prayers for a happy Summer Solstice with this week’s cartoon. We pray that you are enjoying these long, lazy days of summer with those you love and that you are surrounded by kind, supportive community. We pray that you are not in danger from fire. Cast your burdensome cares into the Summer Solstice to wane with the daylight. We here at MoonLit are going to take a little summer vacation at the next new moon, and will be looking forward to connecting with you again at the full moon in July.
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Graphic design by AJ Brown, https://mastodon.sdf.org/@mral
Photography by Terryl Warnock, https://mastodon.sdf.org/@wordsbyterryl
The Life in Pieces writing circle, for their excellent critiques of an early draft.
Terryl is grateful to her Mom who, even though she’s already gone on ahead, must be proud that her efforts to train her eldest daughter about clutter have finally registered in a meaningful way.
She’s also grateful to her beloved little sister, who shares the hoarding tendency and is the uncomplaining recipient of a lot of the Miscellaneous Treasures and Other Junk Terryl just can’t quite bring herself to let go of.
Terryl Warnock is an eccentric with a happy heart who lives on the outskirts of town with her cat. She is known as an essayist, proof reader, editor, maker of soap, and proud pagan. A lifetime student, she has pursued science, religion, and sustainable communities. This, plus life experience from the local community service to ski instructor, from forest service worker to DMV supervisor, from hospitality to business owner gives her a broad view on the world.
Terryl is the author of:The Miracle du jour, ISBN-10: 0989469859, ISBN-13 : 978-0-9894698-5-2
AJ Brown, in a past life, was an embedded systems engineer (digital design engineer). He worked on new product designs from hard disk controllers, communication protocols, and link encryptors to battery monitors for electric cars.
A few years ago he surrendered his spot on the freeway to someone else. Now he is more interested in sailing, building out his live-in bus for travel, and supporting the idea of full-circle food: the propagation, growth, harvest, storage, preparation, and preservation of healthy sustenance. He is a strong supporter of Free/Libre Open Source Software[F/LOSS] and is willing to help most anyone in their quest to use it.
Together, we are MoonLit Press.