My parents, presiding as they are over an empty nest, came up with the wacky notion that my sister and I should get our long-forgotten randomnesses out of the spider-infested boxes in their attic (specifically, the area between the ceiling and the roof).
It’s a mysterious land of leaves and dust and fluffy, itchy insulation, where the adventurer must tread carefully on the supporting beams or plummet to an itchy demise.
After a certain amount of procrastination, we brought down all our sh– all our stuff and began the long process of oohing, ahing, and throwing away. Yesterday was the big day.
My sister is pictured here, with her husband giving moral support.
Some of the boxes disintegrated underneath when picked up. Several plastic bags dissolved when touched. It was exciting stuff. I found boxes stuffed with my old diaries – millions of words of pre-emo angst – and threw them in the bin. I am pleased to report that I did not then cease to exist (the concern which caused me to store them all in the first place).
It’s very, very sad to sort through your old loves and dreams and throw them away. I was reminded of several lives I almost had. My sister and I both slept uneasily last night, although we feel better today.
I also found: several porcelain dolls my grandmother made for me; a Bible from the 1870s; a silver purse; a string bag I made when I was ten and living in Papua New Guinea; a red silk bag with a bell-fastener; and. . . a cat skin.
I kept all of those, except the cat skin, which my grandmother (the other one) gave me long ago after assuring me it was secondhand when she found it. How. . . reassuring?
I did not find an enormous flower made of books. Perhaps next time. This is from bookshelfporn.com:
If you can rescue the catskin I will give it a home…….
Ann: What would you use it for? It’s in my bin, but I’m not too dignified to rummage if there’s a good enough reason.
I’ve always wanted a catskin rug. And I have a book that has a marvelous description of a catskin waistcoat that I think can only be truly appreciated in the light of a real cat skin. But it also reflects my macabre sense of humour.
Congrats, Ann, for revealing a much sicker sense of humour than I gave you credit for. I think I’ll leave my rubbish alone because you clearly need more than one skinned cat.
Lol. I somehow doubted that I could convince you to do a rubbish raid. I will have to find something else to go with my rabbit skin and the various bits of roo I have inherited.
Thank you Ann and Will, for making me even more disturbed (why can’t I be plagues by internet weirdos I DON’T already know?)
*Rummages desperately through the garbage for Fel’s old diaries*
(Oh, and is Grandma still alive? I’d like to ask her if there really is more than one way to Skin a Cat…)
Catskin!
Oh, and other cool stuff…
(which by the way is *very* cool – this is the sort of thing where you suddenly find incredible ancient treasures. No lost treasure maps? Antiquities from the Middle East? Renaissance masterpieces?)
Will: Are you suggesting that my pre-teen diaries are somehow less valuable than a Renaissance painting? I am both Shocked and Appalled. Tell Bob and Cupcake to RSS feed twittertales already, the scurvy slobs.
Notice how fast she changed the subject there?
I think she wants to keep her priceless antiquities and/or treasure maps to herself!
(Having read her teenage diaries, I now understand how cunning and ruthless she truly is!)
The treasure maps are cunningly concealed in some of the poetry I wrote to various hot guys I wasn’t going out with. No sane person would go there. The treasure’s all yours, Ben.
Just as I suspected!
The treasure is located in some ‘limpid pools’ behind a ‘waterfall of glimmering hair’…
Yep. . . surrounded by stars and/or sheep. ANd some suspicious-looking towers.
Sheep in romantic poetry? Oh, yes – your teeth are like a flock of sheep. Oh, my! *fans self*