It was cold this morning, so I busted out my winter coat from my closet. And by closet I mean the back of Jaimie's car because that's where it's been living. It reminded me of a blog I wrote a few years ago, and I thought I would share that with you all here:
Even though it’s this first day of summer, my mind has been on winter.
I used to play this game in New York when it first got cold called- What’s in Davey’s Pocket?
Here are the rules: I stick my hand into the pocket of my winter coat after its summer hibernation and see what crazy things I find.
That’s it. That’s the game.
I’ve discovered all sorts of things buried in the holes of my pockets. I’ve found movie tickets, ATM receipts. A ruler. The ruler was in there for years because once I found it, I could never bring myself to throw it away. There was chewing gum, pencils, broken pens, old set lists from my stand up shows. I used to wonder what someone would think of me if they found that coat and all they had to go on was the stuff in my pockets. What life would they piece together from the scraps?
As my mom and I were going through things at my grandmother’s house, we kept finding old newspaper clippings and handwritten notes in her filing cabinet. There among the old land maps and Farm Bureau statements were these little pieces of paper that she had read and wanted to save. There were bible verses and inspirational messages; things she read that had meant something to her. As I was looking at them, I realized that these were her version of Memes. That if she had been 30 years younger, these would be the things she would share on Facebook. Articles and quotes there among the friend requests and birthday wishes.
Think about what it took for a scrap of paper to make it to the filing cabinet. She had to have seen it somewhere, cut it out or printed it, displayed it on her desk or in her office in some way shape or form, then when she stopped working, decided that instead of trashing it, she would file it away. And because she decided to file it, it was speaking to me today, decades after she clipped them.
It was nice to know that my grandmother was open to receiving messages. That she was searching for meaning; and that when she found it… she saved it.
I wonder how people are going to go through my belongings when I’m gone? Instead of pouring through filing cabinets and desk drawers, are they going to go search my Facebook wall and look at my measly Twitter account? Are they going to peak through my Instagram feed to see what my they want to save and what they want to erase? Are they going to hope to find an old plug to some old computer, and after they laugh at the old technology, read through these old things I’ve written?
That sounds sad on paper, but maybe it won’t be. I’d be fine with ancestors finding out who I was that way.
Better than the alternative. Better than them piecing it together from the things in my coat pockets.