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TamarackLarch of Celeste
Jan. 13th, 2025 09:56 pmSo I was chatting with Moonmoth and the Nonesuch, free associating about what I'd snatch up if I had to leave unexpectedly. Of course, a planned exit would be much better organized, but not amusing to consider. What I thought of off the top of my head:
my one-volume india paper edition of LotR
my three-volume set, illustrated by Alan Lee, that I got for 25 dollars in a used book store in Somerville, at some long-ago Boskone.
Probably the good silver, which came from the Sparrowhawk's real mom and his aunt and grandmother, because it's sitting right there in a convenient box
some photo albums
my Norwegian sweater, because I love it even though it is fraying at the cuffs a bit, and because people who live in Michigan are possessive about their sweaters and it's winter
And then I thought "Oh, I probably should take some of my jewelry, and it doesn't take up much room."
And also maybe I'd throw in at least one of my mother's paintings, if it would fit.
At this point, the Sparrowhawk would probably have been throwing things in the car too, and then I'd probably start screaming that it was time to go, because I am afraid of fire. And floods. And most of the other things that would make you flee. Oh yeah, at some point I'm sure I'd think to bring my sword, my Finnish knife with the birch handle, and my big black Louisville slugger. Just in case of zombies. And whatever loaves of bread were in the freezer, and a jar of peanut butter. And a bag of candles. And matches. (Look how I think of candles, rather than a flashlight with batteries. I'm losing ground as the wheels of the centuries turn.) There's already a blanket in the car, because, again, Michigan. At this point, we must call a halt, or it will turn into planning. This shows you what kind of priorities I have. They are not the most sensible.
And then I panicked and wondered what I'd do about all my old notebooks. I couldn't possibly bring them all. The Nonesuch very helpfully suggested that I should prepare for this ahead of time by color-coding my old journals according to whether it had been a good year or not. Then I could just bring the good ones and let the rest burn. I think it's easier to contemplate such things now that I am older. I know that all will pass anyway, sooner rather than later. Which reminds me of a poem I recommend for this time, "Calmly We Walk through This April's Day," by Delmore Schwartz. Time is the school in which we learn/Time is the fire in which we burn.
my one-volume india paper edition of LotR
my three-volume set, illustrated by Alan Lee, that I got for 25 dollars in a used book store in Somerville, at some long-ago Boskone.
Probably the good silver, which came from the Sparrowhawk's real mom and his aunt and grandmother, because it's sitting right there in a convenient box
some photo albums
my Norwegian sweater, because I love it even though it is fraying at the cuffs a bit, and because people who live in Michigan are possessive about their sweaters and it's winter
And then I thought "Oh, I probably should take some of my jewelry, and it doesn't take up much room."
And also maybe I'd throw in at least one of my mother's paintings, if it would fit.
At this point, the Sparrowhawk would probably have been throwing things in the car too, and then I'd probably start screaming that it was time to go, because I am afraid of fire. And floods. And most of the other things that would make you flee. Oh yeah, at some point I'm sure I'd think to bring my sword, my Finnish knife with the birch handle, and my big black Louisville slugger. Just in case of zombies. And whatever loaves of bread were in the freezer, and a jar of peanut butter. And a bag of candles. And matches. (Look how I think of candles, rather than a flashlight with batteries. I'm losing ground as the wheels of the centuries turn.) There's already a blanket in the car, because, again, Michigan. At this point, we must call a halt, or it will turn into planning. This shows you what kind of priorities I have. They are not the most sensible.
And then I panicked and wondered what I'd do about all my old notebooks. I couldn't possibly bring them all. The Nonesuch very helpfully suggested that I should prepare for this ahead of time by color-coding my old journals according to whether it had been a good year or not. Then I could just bring the good ones and let the rest burn. I think it's easier to contemplate such things now that I am older. I know that all will pass anyway, sooner rather than later. Which reminds me of a poem I recommend for this time, "Calmly We Walk through This April's Day," by Delmore Schwartz. Time is the school in which we learn/Time is the fire in which we burn.
