I wrote yesterday about finding my necklace, and how relieved I was to reach into that vacuum bag and feel it between my fingers. In the process of telling that story, I mentioned that I have a habit of losing things, and that I've lost enough sunglasses, watches and jewelry to fill up a spare room.
I wasn't kidding.
The fallout from the entry - for me - was that memories of all those things I didn't find over the years (or ruined, or just somehow let go of) kept popping up today. Unfortunately, choosing my Top Three Greatest Losses was a real challenge. There were many choices.
1. The Rooster Lamp
When I was growing up, I thought of the rooster lamp like a little treehouse. The upstairs was under the rooster's legs, and the downstairs was the base down at the bottom, where the big white hen and white rooster lived (they were attached to the base). This is really weird, but I had these little plastic cylinders - maybe 1/2-inch tall, probably from some beading project - that were little "people" in my mind, and they lived both upstairs and downstairs. They even had names. I created a whole world for them, and they lived in the "Rooster Apartments." I thought the lamp was majestic and wonderful, and it went everywhere with me over the years. Finally, it began to fall apart. This was during my Bottoming Out Years (2000-2002), when I was withdrawn and falling apart and didn't care about anything anymore. I was living in a tiny house in the hills across from Universal Studios, and when the lamp stopped working, I stashed it up in the carport. I said I was going to get it fixed ... but I didn't. The carport was accessible from the street, and after a few weeks, someone took it. I never saw the rooster lamp again. I feel a physical ache writing this - I can't tell you how much I wish I still had that lamp. What was I thinking? Arrgggghh. All I have left are the white hen and rooster, which I saved when they fell off.
2. 64 Mix Tapes
In 1992, I was accepted into the graduate film program at the American Film Institute. It was thrilling to be changing my life - to be going from music critic to screenwriting student - and I was excited to move from Upstate New York to Los Angeles. To kick this new life off, my girlfriend Sophie and I decided to spend two weeks driving across the country (in a 3-cylinder convertible, but that's another story). I brought 64 mix tapes along for the ride, and they were 64 of the most amazing tapes ever made. There were dozens of theme tapes ("Break My Heart," "Dance, Baby, Dance" "Happy Happy Joy Joy" and "Write, Bitch!" spring to mind), concert tapes, demo tapes made in the studio by bands and artists I hung out with, mix tapes other people had made for me, and several demo tapes made by my friend Dillon. Almost all were irreplacable. When we stayed in Austin one night, we got in late and I was exhausted. Instead of unpacking the car like we did every night - and lugging everything into the hotel room - we decided to just lock the car up and leave our stuff inside. The next morning, we came out and saw that the roof had been jimmied and the car had been broken into. My case containing 64 mix tapes was among the casualties. I was crushed. We called the police, but nothing was found. I drove around looking in dumpsters (who would want a bunch of homemade mixes, right?) but they were gone. It makes me angry to this day.
3. Pearl Ring Up a Tree
My grandmother died from lung cancer in 1985 at the age of 62. I don't have a lot of family to begin with (no siblings, no cousins, no aunts, one crazy uncle, etc), and this made her loss all the more painful. The year before she died, she gave me a pearl ring that she'd had for years. It rested in an elegant gold setting, it was stunning, and I loved it. Why I wore it to an outdoor Cyndi Lauper concert (I was visiting a friend at the University of Buffalo) is beyond me. I suppose the ring could have survived the trip ... but the tree proved more problematic. About halfway through Cyndi's show (and I'm mortified to admit this on several levels), I decided that what I really needed to do was climb a huge tree for a better view. (Did I really need to see her sing Time After Time that badly? I mean, I know it was a song that made me cry over Garp, but still ...) Anyway, when I went up the tree, I had the ring. When I came down, I didn't. I searched the area around the base of the tree, but no dice.
Over the years, I've tried to take better care of my things - tried to be less oblivious and more mindful - and I will say it's gotten much better.
There's still room for improvement.
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