Still Packing
October already. How can it possibly be October already. Days come flying
by. I thought it would take a week or two to pack. Been at it seven days a week
for two months now, but the end’s in
sight . . . sort of. I’d say we’re 80%. At last I’m cleaning up my office,
trying to clear the desk, digging up papers I hadn’t looked at for years, and
more old photographs. I try to take it easy Mondays, but there are always decisions,
thing that m be done . . . like getting rid of things, trying to sell things, giving
things to friends.
It’s good to give things
to good friends. It’s either them or Goodwill, and Craig’s list of course. Sold
a film camera I loved for years . . . traveled around the world with, Asia,
South America, Sri Lanka, Thailand and Nepal. knew that camera like a part of
my body. Haven’t used it for three years. Who wants a film camera in this
digital world. I tried to give the thing
away but couldn’t find a taker. Beautiful piece of equipment: Canon A-1. still good for another decade easy
. . . made useless by time. But I got lucky, some
guy going to a cinematography school bought it. There were filters, also lenses
that will not fit a new Canon Digital camera. Odd how often that
happens. Probably around $4000 worth of
gear . . . now useless. But this guy was delighted to have it and I was
delighted to sell it to him for $200. Wife and I aren’t into yard sales. And it’s
not so easy giving things away. I traded
a really nice drill press for two hours of Mexican labor—yard work. I’ve used that
drill press once or twice a month for this and that . . . for years.
But it’s a good thing, all
this moving, in a way—a cleansing. Hundreds of small things go to Goodwill,
eleven trips there so far. Amazing the mountains of stuff that accumulate there
in a single day. Piles of TVs, furniture, desks and tables—useable stuff, not
new but in excellent condition. Stuff people in third world counties would be
delighted to own. Tons of clothing comes in every day as things go out of
style. My wife has donated a lot of very expensive clothes purchased in Europe.
Fifteen years old, some of them. Once again, something of quality made to last—but
out of style. I have a like-new Sony video camera that uses tapes. In perfect
condition almost useless. You can do the same thing with a cell phone now. Beauty
changes. So damn hard this getting rid of things.
The most frightening
imaginable state of existence: An old folks home . . . some kind of care
facility. Where nothing is yours . .
. nothing is personal, at best a lamp, a few framed photographs. If you’ve
reached sixty (my congratulations!) chances are you’ve visited a friend or
relative in one of these. People just passing time, most doing fairly well with
it. They have each other to talk to, or not and card games—TV. Esthetic
isolation. The horror!
I think it was James Thurber
who said he wanted to die by being bitten by a blue mamba inside the Taj Mahal. Burroughs said something about checking out face
down next to a urinal in the mens' room of
third rate saloon. Benares, (Varanasi) India would be my choice. To be sitting on the ghats, those stone steps, watching the
Ganges pass by . . . temple bells tolling. Boats gliding on the river—ancient oarsmen.
The odd wandering goat, or bullock. Life passing by . . . and death. A vulture
or two float overhead, keeping an eye on things. There used to be sheltered
stone areas where people could wait to die. I think users had to move to
another spot every week or so, to make sure they weren’t faking their impending
death.
Those waiting were all men when I was there. Men totally without possessions. People gave
them food of coins. The rags they wore did not have pockets.
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