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So you know how it is when things you see again and again kind of fade into the background and you don't notice them?

Several weeks after I finally unpacked (I thought) all the Boxes o' Stuff I realized that an unidentified box had been sitting on the top of the beige filing cabinets all this time. I noticed it this morning when I was doing my Morning Pages.

So I opened it. Within was lots of cloth, my glass oil lamp that my first proper boyfriend gave me on our one year anniversary of dating and the fountain that my sister had given me as a bridesmaid's gift. I'd been wondering where the hell those were, to the point that my brother was threatening to tear apart his garage to see if the box had accidentally wound up there when he'd removed some things from the basement.

I also found three Furbys. (Yes, the proper plural is with the Y, it's a brand name thing.) Remember those? Malinda (britpoptarts) got one back when we were living in Clarkston. It was mailed to her. Anonymously. As far as I know, nobody she knows has fessed up to this day. Initially, she was thrilled, then she came to regard it as a little furry electronic "ball of guilt". So she gave it to me. I'd bought one for myself to go with hers and I acquired a third somehow when I worked at Book Nook.

I'm debating getting new batteries and seeing how they'll interact with each other. It was kinda amusing way back when.

I suppose I could flog the things on eBay, but something tells me the resale value has gone down quite a bit.

Anyway. So this evening I went to an exhibition of found photographs at Eyedrum which was absolutely fascinating to me. They had the photographs in cases and that particular evening they were opening the cases and letting people look through them. There was everything from antique tintypes to 80s looking portrait studio pictures. All of them were photos that had been somehow abandoned and picked up by various collectors. It was an odd glimpse into people's lives, the celebratory and the banal. Probably the most disturbing one was of a bed with the sheets completely saturated with blood. There were smears of blood on the walls as well. No explanation whatosever. Didn't appear to be a crime scene photo, either. Just a picture of a blood-soaked bed.

There was also a table with found letters and even found diaries. That was probably the most compelling yet unnerving part. Because I read them. I couldn't help myself. I read the journal of a twentysomething lad in love with a girl named Ashley and trying to figure out what to do with his life. There was also a day planner with mostly blank pages toward the start and then suddenly there was a page with a diary-type entry about a woman who was starting out as a teacher and struggling with a long distance relationship. She said something about talking to the moon, which freaked me out so completely I decided that would be a good point to call it an evening and leave. (I though I was the only person on earth who was in the habit of talking to the moon. Hey, the moon's a terrific listener.)

So I got home, set up my fountain and now I'm waiting for Mr. TBH to ping me so I can meet him in Second Life.

Today I took pleasure in tea with a splash of whiskey.

Today I learned strange and disturbing things about people I will probably never meet.


( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
Mar. 29th, 2007 02:00 pm (UTC)
Old photos absolutely fascinate me. I can pore over them for hours, soaking up all the little details and trying to build a story from them.
Mar. 29th, 2007 02:12 pm (UTC)
Today I took pleasure in tea with a splash of whiskey.

I thought that was just me. Bigelow Cinnamon Stick blends nicely with whiskey; Constant Comment with a little Southern Comfort is very nice, indeed.
Mar. 29th, 2007 03:02 pm (UTC)
Tea and Whiskey . . .
It was offered to me at the photo exhibition. It never would have occurred to me to have done it otherwise. It's something I'll have to try again sometime.
Apr. 2nd, 2007 06:06 pm (UTC)
Trust me, you are not the only one that talks to the moon. I started doing that many a year ago, in fact, the moon is the one thing that kept me sane during my teen angst years. In fact my infatuation with the moon is so intense that I have many a moon image throughout my house. And of course, that's how I got my user name, my husband always referred to me as his little witch and after awhile he just started calling me his moon witch, and I thought, Hey, that's the perfect user name.
Apr. 4th, 2007 10:01 am (UTC)
No one ever confessed. It is still a mystery. Probably someone from Tiger List, though, as I was nominated as Official List Goddess at one point. Upon hearing the news, I demanded tribute. When asked what suitable tributes would be, I said money, cookies, toys, and naked pictures. I got 41 cents taped to an index card from one lister, a couple of food tributes, some fast food toys, and no n00dz. However, years had gone by since this flood of love offerings was sent my way, so I doubt a Tiger sent the Furby.

The bloody bed may have been post-birth, -death, or -surgery. Odd to commemorate any of those things that way.

Moon and I "chat" on occasion, which is more than I can say about me and Sun.
Apr. 5th, 2007 08:35 am (UTC)
Found this praising Peter: http://community.livejournal.com/lkh_lashouts/243433.html?style=mine

I have Kath & PD (somewhere) on my Flist, but figured I'd tell you about it eventually anyway, so this kills 3 birds with one comment! I win a cooky!
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )