Sept. 05, 2004 - 17:01 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Shards From Ago

Getting ready to move in many ways is like living in a whirlpool of past events -- good and bad, at least for me that is.

In a plastic envelope is a bit of shrapnel from a hit on Bien Hoa when I was there. Beside it is one of the pointy things, of which there are four of, in a halo. Now that makes my head cringe, both from the installation the first time but the continuing pain and trouble of trying to get used to wearing a halo.

In the same drawer is a little black book from The Royal Bank Of Scotland which has space for 7 credit cards (or whatever) brought back from Scotland by Heather when she went to see our daughter and her family when they were there.

When I was in Viet Nam I bought a gold puzzle ring, and having learned how to break it apart and put it together again, began to wear as my wedding ring (which had long ago worn out). To me it symbolized marriage more that a single solid band, to my way of thinking. Single strands of gold, intertwined, yet together, man wife and children. Complete, separate yet intermingled in curious ways. Well that also wore out. But in my drawer in a leather bag is a silver puzzle ring my daughter bought for me quite some time ago to replace the gold ring.

Carefully wrapped was my TENS unit which was put away when the pads began to make sores on my back. Still there are fond memories of the comfort it once gave me. Maybe will be used again someday.

In a square plastic box were several small padlocks once used to lock suitcases up when we flew, along with their associated keys and a pack of United Airline tags to put on bags. Memories of wonderful times.

In another plastic box are some pins, the prized one is what I wear on St. Patrick's Day. A green plastic pin shaped like a shamrock with words of gilt, "Mazel Tov," causes a double take when some one takes long enough to read it. But it just emphasizes the old saying, "On St. Patrick's Day, everybody is Irish."

Each thing in that drawer brings back good memories, and a few sad ones.

Then, on with packing I go to clothes I won't use for a time. I guess like many men, clothes we don't like get shoved back in the closet until wife demands their use. I have been going through sweaters and jackets, some so old that perhaps are hand me downs from Methuselah. Those are the long distance durable types. The other favorites eventully turn to powder and disappear from the hangers. But those left, oh my, A long sleeved cardigan that zips up to right under my chin. Daughter bought me that long ago. It is worn, but quite usable even though looking somewhat tatty. When I wear it in cold weather it not only keeps my physical body warm but surrounds me with the warmth of her love for me.

So every jacket and sweater, every shirt have memories and are not relinquished easily. Then there my good clothes which Heather picks out for each event we are going to. They have memories of good times too. But I am not really comfortable in "good clothes," I still feel like a little kid who is dressed up and put out to play with the warning, "Don't you dare get dirty or mussed up, we are leaving shortly !" Buttoned up collar, with the tabs buttoned up too, necktie trying to strangle me and a doggone coat that may look a bit fancy but really doesn't do very much for me at all. So they get their closet space, way toward the back.

Same way with shoes, most of them get worn 'til they disappear though memories of what happened when I wore those particular ones are still with me.

Papers of poetry that are simmering below the surface and may come to light someday.

All my beloved books have been boxed, a hex waved over them to keep them safe until brought back to the light of day and shelved comfortably.

It is rather uncomfortable here living amongst Shards From Ago . . . . . . . . . . . .

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