Junk Drawer

Michael Ian Black (comedian/actor) recently wrote a humorous post on the vivid nature of our childhood dreams and how, over time, our ability to experience the ferociously creative and vivid dreams of youth fades.

 

http://www.michaelianblack.net/blog/2009/11/dreams.html

 

Black’s post got me thinking - not just about childhood dreams, but also about the intensity of my own childhood ‘memories’: the smells, sounds, voices, subtle gestures and facial expressions of relatives living and passed.  This may sound as if I have some wonderful memory I’m about to paint and am setting up the canvas as you read.  The truth is, however, that while I do have many grand memories of youth, I also have thousands of vivid details filed away in my mental dustbin that seem to just take up space with no apparent purpose. 

 

Take TV dinners as an example, the old-school-pre-microwave-tinfoil-encapsulated-slabs-o’-goodness.  I remember how thin the foil cover was and how a small square was to be cut around the ‘cherry compote’ – a red, napalm-hot dessert that inevitably burned my mouth with incredible intensity.  I remember the mysterious dwarfed onion that sat atop the pile of peas, the single pat of butter on the mash potatoes that burned a perfect square in the center, and the funny, slightly mushy croutons sprinkled on the turkey slices.  My mother may have been a great cook, but I have more technicolor memories of TV dinners than I do of pies cooling on the windowsill.

       

After writing the previous paragraph (and still savoring the lofting scent of long lost TV dinners), I took a step back to survey the mental junk drawer I had inadvertently emptied onto the floor.  Once you open this drawer, it turns out it’s difficult to stop sifting through it…several more examples of my mind’s scattered collection of trinkets began to emerge:

 

- The lightness of the Big Wheel’s front tire and the scratching sound of out of control hard plastic on pavement, followed by the tightening of my stomach just before hitting a chainlink fence

- The feel of cheap chainlink fence (the rough jagged kind) against my cheek

- The sparkly blue in my Banana Seat Schwinn

- The smell of a tiny milk carton’s spout (the kind we consumed during ‘milkbreak’)

- The hairy mole on my 5th grade teacher’s right cheek

- Every word to ‘I’m Just a Bill Sitting Here on Capital Hill’

- My 64 box of Crayola Crayons and getting the soft gold crayon broken off in the built in sharpener…early stress

- The green melted smooth spots (patches) on the seats of our school bus

- The strange sweet smell of my morbidly obese babysitter and the way she would exhale when she pried herself from the Lazyboy

- The way my Dukes of Hazard lunchbox used to pinch my skin when I closed its clasp

- The light hollow snapping of pop rocks in my open mouth

- The St. Bernard living across the street and the determined look on his face as he chased me on my Banana Seat Schwinn (his name was George)

 

After considering this pile of ‘stuff’ a bit more, I scolded my mind for being a hoarder and collector of the mundane.  Then I realized why I was being hard on myself.  In all this silliness, I realized that I could not remember my Grandmother’s face.  I could not dial it up.  My Grandmother passed away when I was roughly 7 and while I remember the Nilla Wafers she fed me (and the mushy dissolving properties of these cookies in milk), I could not remember her eyes or face, or the kind and loving way I know she used to look at me.  I remember how she ‘felt’ to be around and maybe that is enough - not something one should find in a junk drawer.  Looking back, though, I wish I had put my cookie down, looked up from my TV dinner and just sat there, taking her in a bit longer.  

 
 

Comments

[slouchy]

I share SO many of these. We must be close to the same age. How about...

...the smell of grape Bubble Yum?
...the sturdy feel of a glass Coke bottle?
...Wacky Packs?
...the sound of the wheels of cheapo skateboards on the pavement?
...the theme song to Dallas?
...Wonder Dog?
...Mighty Mouse?
...Mr. French on Family Affair?
...Apple Jacks -- when they still tasted good?

[Stephen]

Great work.

Additions:
-my blue *imitation* banana seat Schwinn and our homemade ramps
-not-so-Toughskins with patched knees
-The Love Boat and Fantasy Island
-Mrs. Sturkey (my second grade teacher)
- ". . . conjunction junction, what's your function . . ."
-The original canvas Nikes with baby blue swooshes
-the feel and smell of sap on my tree-climbing hands
-the sound the box of Nerds used to make in my pocket and, oh wait, Fun Dip!
-"Uptown Girl," all things "Thriller," and, pause and slowly turn down the music, is that a pained whisper I hear: "Hello . . . is it me you're looking for?"
-the chlorine smell and pruney fingertips accompanying my utter summer exhaustion
-fireflies

Somebody please close the drawer.

[Kelly]

Ah, this is fun...Fun Dip and Apple Jacks (the good kind) made my day - yes, it was that kind of day. Having a glass of wine now and after the second glass I am positive I can dial up the precise smell of playdoe. Thank you for these...maybe the subtle mundane details are all that's left at the end of the day...

[Chris]

Nostalgia is my drug, my juice, my crack. Loved this! We ate our TV dinners on TV trays while sitting on the couch watching "The Sonny and Cher" show. I think it was soft porn for my dad.

I read something recently that said it's difficult for us to remember faces. Like you, I have vivid memories. I can remember someone's arm hair or distinctive fingernails, but I have to look at a photo to remember facial details. So I look at old photos... a lot.

Fun read, Kelly. Now go find a nice photo of your grandmother, and enjoy.

[Hack]

Time to do another post biatch.

[Kelly]

Please inspire me Hack, I am lost in a cycle of mediocrity...

[Curtis]

You can't find a sweet ride like your blue Schwinn anymore. What a good ride. That banana seat was "lazyboy-esque" compared to the seats of today!

School House Rock rock(ed)s!!