A Living Taxonomy by Aleue

A LIVING TAXONOMY

Written and Photographed by Annie Leue 2

A LIVING TAXONOMY Written and Photographed by Annie Leue

To Mom and Dad: The only people who can drive me nuts and keep me sane at the same time. I don’t think it’s possible to thank you enough for all you have given me in support and love, but I’m sure as heck gonna try. Thank you!

Contents Introduction

Early Childhood

Montessori Magnet

Early Adolescence

Teenage Years

Camp

Family Trips

Reach

Dad

Mom

Oliver

104

Katy

111

Reszin & Ted

118

Garrett

124

i ke thin

eep ngs.

Big things, small things, flat things, weird things; I just keep a lot of stuff. 11

have always formed a special bond with the things I’ve owned. Some of those things were given to soothe the wild beast of an imp that I was between the ages of two and sixteen. Others have simply been amassed by my tendency to keep. This has caused me to have a lot of stuff. Just…so much stuff. Stuff that serves me no purpose other than taking up space and being attached to a memory or a feeling. I began to notice this tendency when I was in elementary school and, even then, recognized the need to develop a system of organization. My system then was more akin to Russian nesting dolls than it was anything practical, but it was a start. Now, I stow these things away in a box in my bedroom until the time of year that I come home from college, determined to reduce the amount of stuff I own. I go into the process determined to de-clutter, discard, and donate. But I always come to a roadblock in the same place: the second cabinet from the right. This cabinet is different from the other three. It doesn’t hold clothes or books. Instead it holds boxes. Filled with stuff. Every year I reach this cabinet, open up those boxes and find things that are weird, unique, scary, cute, stupid, childish, et al. And every time that I reexamine these objects, I have a new perspective. As time passes, I’m farther away from the memory attached to each object and I am able to look at them in a new light; with a sense of objectivity (pun intended) and distance. Yet, I still can’t seem to get rid of these objects which defined my entire existence so long ago. And I think there’s something to say in this. The items in this book are those which I have kept throughout all my personal cleanses. They

preserve and recall those moments which become buried in my memory over time. Many of them also generate unidentifiable emotions which I don’t want to lose, even if I don’t know why. Similar to the Russian nesting strategy from my past, this book serves as an organization and classification system to not only my objects, but to my memories and personal connections. The objects are classified into four groups based on the dominant memory associated with each: people, places, eras, and moments. Many objects cross between groups, as they remind me of multiple things at once. Because of the organic nature of memory, the format of the book is more free-flowing than it is sectional. The one constant is that each of the objects triggers an instant psychological reaction. Every object has a story; a story that seems to live within that object, giving it life. Call me a hoarder, call me overly-sentimental, what have you. This has been an aspect of my life that I’ve simultaneously struggled with and celebrated. And this is a document that proves it. It’s safe to say that these are only a small portion of the hundreds of things I’ve kept over the past 22 years of my life. However, they are the most indicative of the sentimental equity that becomes stored in my belongings over various periods of time. My hope is that this process of documentation will help me continue the systematic purging of stuff. Let’s be clear: I don’t know the exact reason why I keep a lot of the things I do, but this book is a single step in this process of self-realization. Distilled down, this book is an overly-nostalgic series of anecdotes documenting and remarking on the extraordinary and the mundane.

System of

Categorization EXAMPLE ITEM LABEL SHORT ITEM DESCRIPTION DATE ACQUIRED

PEOPLE

The most relevant category for each object appears on top and each subsequent category below decreases in relevance.

Those objects which primarily bring to mind a person or group of people. They thereby exemplify the character of that person and/or evoke a positive experience in which they were heavily involved and would not have been positive without their presence. PLACES

Those objects which primarily bring to mind a specific location, thus evoking both tactile and visual memories of the surroundings. These objects also bring to mind the people who accompanied me at said location and the emotions felt while there. ERAS

Those objects which cause me to reminisce fondly about a particular span of time, such as my primary school days or the summers in which I went to camp. MOMENTS

The objects in this category may have one or both of the following associations: that with a single event in time or that with a feeling or impression experienced at first sight of the object.

ERAS MOMENTS PEOPLE

Early Childhood Rather than specific recollections, I tend to retain only my general impressions from this era and, of course, the artifacts. These objects remind me of the innocence, wonder, imaginative creativity, and optimism of my youth; free of much of the self-consciousness I often face now. Honestly, I’m not sure where most of these things came from, and neither are my parents. However, they became staples of my childhood room, following me on three major house moves. I can even picture exactly where they were placed for years on end, perched on the top shelf of my white wicker bookshelf. Most of them, I’m sure, were newborn or subsequent

birthday gifts, but because of their unknown origin, I don’t have much in terms of stories for any of these items. I only have a lingering sense of nostalgia and general mental imagery of my childhood home, a place that often pops up in my dreams. We moved in 2001 to where we live now, a beautiful 1850s cottage, but sometimes I fantasize about knocking on the door to see if the new owners would let me look around one last time. Last I knew, they had young children, so I’m sure the last thing they would want is a strange young adult strolling through their house.

CLOWN DOLLS 1991

PORCELAIN DANCER 1991

ORIGINAL LOCATION OF CHILDHOOD DOLLS ON WHITE WICKER BOOK SHELF

BALLERINA, HANGING

APPROX. 5’

CLOWNS

WICKER

The only clear semblance of a story to any of these objects is associated with the wooden bird on the following page. My dad actually gave this to me as a souvenir when he came back from a trip to Jamaica in the early 2000s, but it reminds me more of a book I loved when I was younger than it does my dad. I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t place the name of the book, most likely because it was entirely in French, but it was about a similar wooden bird on a pedestal who longed to be able to fly. He eventually broke free from his bindings and was able to fly with the rest of the flock. It was very heartwarming and encouraging, etc, etc. I kept the wooden bird partially because it was as if I had a real-world artifact from one of my favorite stories, regardless of whether or not the two were actually related.

CHINA CAT UNKNOWN

WOODEN BIRD 2006

WELL NO THEY DEF KNOW WE 25

OW EFINITELY E DON’T 26

ERAS PLACES MOMENTS PEOPLE

Montessori Magnet Montessori has become completely intertwined with my memories of childhood. It was a Magnet school, so it was structured differently than other schools; every two grades were grouped together in a classroom. This means I had fewer teachers over the course of eight years, but each one was just as amazing as the last. Though each classroom and teacher were part of a single school, I had such different experiences in each of those classes that they almost have become individual eras in my memory. I had Ms. Aiello as a teacher for

third and fourth grade. She was a short, feisty Italian woman with a great sense of humor. My mom told me that Ms. Aiello once mentioned to her that she loved me because I was the only one in the class who got her jokes. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been true with most of my teachers since. The note on the following page is in regards to my graduation from elementary school and is a very touching message on its own, but it also carries with it a sense of the relationship that we shared over the two years I was in her class.

LETTER FROM MS. AIELLO 2003

PARTY HAT, NOISEMAKER, AND BALLOON UNKNOWN, UNKNOWN, 2004

Who even knows whose birthday these items on the left are from? Could be mine. Not sure. I kept them because they were festive and probably came from a birthday party that was particularly exciting or memorable at the time. The balloon on the right, however, does have a story attached to it. When I was in fifth grade, I took a series of skiing lessons with a few friends of mine at a local mountain. Anyone who knows me also knows that I have terrible balance and am generally afraid of being attached to things that are moving really fast. Well, lo and behold, skiing encompasses both of those fears. I had actually gone skiing many times before with my family, but I usually remained unwaveringly loyal to the bunny hill. This time around, we were experimenting with the more advanced slopes because we were in fifth grade and my friends had convinced me I was invincible. I certainly was not. If there is a word that means exactly the opposite of invincible, that would describe me. I was plush, sensitive, and very much vulnerable at the blossoming age of eleven. At the end of our skiing day, we decided to take one last trip down one of the bigger hills before we had to go home. Well, the sun had been shining a good amount that day and happened to create a thin layer of ice on top of the snow. Combine this element with the fact that I have never been able to stop myself on skis or any other vehicle of winter fun (i.e. ice skates) and you get a screaming fifth grader flying straight down a mountain at record speeds. In all honesty, it was probably hysterical from an outsider’s perspective. On my end, not so much. I ended up running straight into the dirt parking lot, flipping on end, and landing on my arm, fracturing my wrist. As was custom for me at the time, I immediately started sobbing, but upon realizing that I was more shocked than I was in pain, quickly stopped and got in the car to head to the hospital. When some of my other friends found out, they came to my house and brought me a “get well soon” balloon (pictured, left); a stuffed pig; the most desired of toys at that time in my life, and probably still now; and a giant hand-made card expressing their condolences. I’m almost certain I still have all three of those things. Honestly, the break didn’t even hurt particularly much. If anything, I was more upset that it was my left arm so I still had to do my homework. 30

GIRL SCOUT BADGE UNKNOWN

I was in Girl Scouts (Brownies, specifically) for a number of years in elementary school. The troop was led by a few of my friends’ moms and we met right after school in one of the classrooms. It wasn’t the most legitimate of troops; in fact, one of our troop leaders mentioned recently that we probably shouldn’t even tell anyone we were in Girl Scouts. Regardless, I loved it. We used to take small trips around Albany, complete simple volunteer projects, bake, and make crafts. Whether or not any of those activities properly earned us our badges is up for debate, but at the time we felt like we were doing our part. This particular badge (left) was earned during a trip to Thacher Park. Unfortunately, we stopped meeting when we graduated elementary school because we were all going to different middle schools in different parts of the city and getting together was going to be too difficult. I miss all the cookies, though.

WE PROBA SHOULDN’ TELL ANY WERE IN 33

ABLY ’T EVEN YONE WE GIRL 34

This tiny “e” (right) is a small part of a diorama I created in fifth or sixth grade for my French class which showed the different strata that Montreal was built upon. It began with a Subway platform on the bottom, a produce stand in the middle, and a hotel lobby on top. It’s entirely possible that it was in no way accurate, but it seemed creative at the time. My dad helped me build the box that I made the scenes in and I decorated each of the floors with a combination of hand-made miniatures and doll house furniture. I had a blast putting this thing together; it combined my love for tiny things with my innate desire to create. I’ve gotten rid of the diorama in recent years, but I kept the “e” from the hotel sign (“Chez Nicole”) for posterity.

After completing those aforementioned projects, my French class took a day trip to Montreal. We were a rowdy bunch of 12-year-olds let loose in a foreign country and I could not have been more embarrassed to be American. When I was younger, I used to be incredibly conscious of looking too much like a tourist when I traveled anywhere with my family. When we went to New York City, for example, I would try to act like I had lived there for years. I would be mortified when my parents inevitably began openly debating about which stop we had to get off at on the subway. “Well now they definitely know we don’t belong here,” I would think; as if our practical walking shoes, backpacks, and piles of shopping bags didn’t already make that obvious. I’ve very much gotten over that now, because New York is mostly tourists on any given day anyway. But at the time we went to Montreal as a class, those concerns were keenly on my mind. I tried my best throughout the whole trip to seem polite and poised, as any true French-Canadian would be, making me the most well-behaved kid on the trip. I kept the bag on the following page from the Montreal Biodome which probably held a souvenir that I just had to have. In actuality, it was likely as useless as the bag itself, which is evident in the fact that I kept the bag longer than I kept the actual souvenir.

SMALL SCULPEY CLAY “E” 2003/2004

SMALL PAPER SHOPPING BAG 2002

SECONDARY SOUVENIR FROM MONTREAL INSECTARIUM, RETAINED YEARS PAST

APPROX. 3.5”

EXPIRATION DATE

EXP. 2004

JILLIAN’S CARD AND NOVELTY PHOTOGRAPH 2005

My graduation from elementary school was quite an exciting experience. I was showered with congratulations and cards and gifts, partially for actually graduating and partially for speaking at the ceremony. After we came back home, myself and a few other friends went to Jillianâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s, a local restaurant and arcade. The card (left) was a sort of gaming credit card, and the picture was made using one of those photo booths that combines two peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s facial features and determines what their offspring would look like. It was mind-blowing at the time. I thought it would be a good idea to see what my child with a seal would look like. Clearly, that was a terrifyingly horrible idea.

WE WERE WEIRD 41

COOTIE CATCHER 2004

ERAS PLACES PEOPLE MOMENTS

Early Adolescence I’m sure no one would be surprised if I said that I was a painfully awkward pre-teen/teenager. I’m not sure I’ve entirely outgrown it either. Regardless of my social discomfort, I rather liked middle school. From what I understand, I’m one of the only kids who ever has. But I had great teachers, I learned a lot, and I developed a really great best friendship that lasted all the way through high school. This friend, Nick, helped me realize and embrace my inner nerd to the utmost degree. He was into theater, I was into music, and we were

both into playing Xbox and eating mozzarella sticks. Our shared senses of humor can best be expressed in this cootie catcher (left). Instead of typical middle schoolers who wrote numbers to choose from, we drew pictures of pencils and trees and wrote colors and “boobs” (no one ever said we were mature). As can be expected, the fortunes aren’t really fortunes either. One reads, “Your stock broker’s wife will have a baby.” We were weird kids. But this made for a very interesting, hilarious, eventful, and memorable middle school experience.

This flower patch (right) followed me around on my backpack for what seemed like the entirety of middle and high school. I loved this shade of green. And, even though it’s such a small artifact, the fact that I carried it with me everywhere I went made it a definitive part of my identity at the time. It said that I was girly, but not prissy; cool, but still relatable. It also said that I frequented Michaels Craft Stores. It was very me.

Middle school was when I began to become obsessed with keeping paper objects such as notes and drawings. On the following page, I have two small pieces of paper: a post-it note from my seventh grade creative writing teacher with a grade and a few comments on it, and my first valentine from someone other than my parents. The post-it means a lot for obvious pride-related reasons (and because Mr. Lustig was one of my favorite teachers), but the valentine means more to me. I didn’t date throughout middle and high school. Though I was always relatively boy-crazy, my crushes were typically never reciprocated. This was the first valentine I ever received from a boy, even though that boy was just a very good friend of mine. It’s the perfect combination of mushy and hilarious.

FLOWER IRON-ON PATCH 2003

GRADE POST-IT FROM MR. LUSTIG 2004/2005

VALENTINES NOTE 2004/2005

I used to love doodling. I mean, I still certainly do (as an art student, I definitely should), but not nearly as much as I did in middle school. Whenever I was around Nick, we couldn’t help but send stupid drawings back and forth making fun of whatever was going on around us. And boy did we think we were hilarious. The drawing to the right was made during my seventh grade social studies class, which I abhorred. My teacher was the dullest man I’d ever met and had a perpetual five o’clock shadow, which never quite made sense. Two things are clear in this image: that I was, and still am, a total music nerd, and that this was created before my English teacher sat me down and forced me to learn cursive because she physically couldn’t read my handwriting. The small snippet of writing that can be seen shows that I wrote very small and incredibly messy; a horrid combination. I’ve been writing in cursive–or a weird hybrid of cursive and print depending on my haste–ever since.

BOREDOM DOODLE 2003 49

ERAS PLACES PEOPLE MOMENTS

Teenage Years I hated high school. Absolutely hated it. I loved my classes and my teachers, and always felt I was learning a lot, but I hated the atmosphere and the social stratification. I had two best friends, a few close friends, and a handful of acquaintances and people I vaguely knew from elementary and middle school. Coming from older parents, though, I never felt like I could truly relate to kids my own age. I always felt more mature than anyone I interacted with on a day-to-day basis, except for my teachers and my two best friends. I participated in a heinous number of extra-curricular activities, most likely for the same deep-seated psychologicallymasochistic reasons I decided to take on two intense majors in college. I was in the Empire 51

State Youth Orchestra and Percussion Ensemble, on the stage crew and eventually in the pit for the school theater ensemble, and I was an active member of my church youth group. I kept very busy. The artifacts Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve kept from high school are primarily reminders of my accomplishments and hard work, personal milestones, and of my friends and our warped senses of humor. The keychain on the right belonged to the set of keys from my first car. It was a 1987 Volkswagen Cabriolet soft top named Scooty-Puff Sr: The Doom Bringer, after a bit from the show Futurama. I was eager to learn how to drive as soon as was legally possible, and we

MAH JONG TILE KEYCHAIN 2007

CAPE MAY BEACH PIN 2007

happened upon this car soon after I got my permit. A neighbor down the road was selling it at, what I didn’t realize at the time, was a very worrisome price; but we bought it and hoped for the best. It drove like a dream and I kept it until my senior year, when I decided to go to Fredonia for undergrad. We all agreed that it wouldn’t be able to make the drive without exploding, or at least breaking down on the highway, so we bought my 2008 Honda Fit. Before selling it, I had one last hurrah with my car that’s as hilarious as it is ridiculous. Just like every other high school student during their senior year, I thought I was hot shit. I had gotten into college, I didn’t have much to worry about, and I was at the top of the metaphorical high school food chain. When I started driving to school, I took it upon myself to take a pragmatic approach to the faculty parking lot. There was an entire corner of the lot that consistently went unused, so I decided to do everyone a favor and keep those spots warm in case eight more teachers were hired on a whim. One morning, when I was walking from my car, I ran into a very disgruntled young teacher who threatened to have my car towed if I parked there again. I laughed it off, and actually kept laughing until I got home, where my dad, finding the situation equally ridiculous, suggested a masterful plan. We decided to make a foam-core board cut-out of my car with my shining face in the window saying “tow this!” and place it in the parking spot for Monday morning. To give you an understanding of the extent of our commitment to our shenanigans, we woke up at 5:30 AM in order to set this thing up without anyone seeing us. We also weighed it down with iron

stage weights so it wouldn’t blow down and ruin the effect. I was so proud, that when I was inevitably called into the vice principle’s office, I waltzed in, sat down, and just pleasantly smiled at him while he asked me questions and showed me pictures of the evidence. I got in absolutely no trouble, as it should have been. I later found out, however, that not only was that young teacher absolutely infuriated, but every teacher who had taught me in a class of theirs thought it was hysterical. My ceramics teacher even convinced one of the janitors to clandestinely pick it from the trash for me, where it had been tossed by whoever had found it. It still remains my favorite memory from high school and my favorite story to tell in general. Ironically, my car was towed from a different lot later that year, along with a few other seniors’ cars.

My friends were a big part of my life in high school. Ali was my first close girlfriend, and we spent most of our free time together both inside and outside of school. One summer, Ali and her family took me to Cape May, NJ, where I had an amazing time both in general and with her. The pin (left) reminds me of everywhere we went, the things we ate, and the stuff we laughed at. It also reminds me, however, of the two consecutive times that I got knocked over by a wave, the second of which caused me to flash the entire beach and curse loudly in front of families with small children. Luckily, I also have a scar on my shoulder from getting thrown into the rocks in the process of getting knocked over, so I can take the hilarious embarrassment with me wherever I go.

NEWSPRINT WRAPPING PAPER 2004

TUFT OF BUFFY’S HAIR 2013

(Previous page) Buffy was our sweetheart of a cocker spaniel. She had beautiful dark brown eyes that could melt the heart of even the biggest cat fanatic. We got her in 2003 as a rescue dog when she was seven. It was clear that she was spoiled and over-fed by her previous owner, an older woman, the evidence showing up in her adorably plump tush that waddled when she walked. She recently passed away over the summer of 2013 at the age of 17. The image on the right page is a small baggie filled with some of her soft ear hair which the vet trimmed off when we had to have her put to sleep. I thought the idea of taking it with me was weird at first, but decided later that I was glad I said yes. The image on the left is a newspaper clipping that my friend Kristin used to wrap a birthday present for me in seventh grade. She chose to use a section of the classifieds where a few different people were selling cocker spaniel puppies. She knew that I had been trying to convince my parents that Buffy would love a younger sibling (she wouldn’t have) and that I would’ve helped train and take care of it (I could barely care for a guinea pig). Needless to say, that plan didn’t work out for me. And while these two objects are from completely different time periods, they represent the beginning and end of Buffy’s life within my own understanding, as I didn’t have the opportunity to know her as a puppy. She’s missed terribly, but she lived a great, long, love-filled life.

On a lighter note, I may be one of the only people in the history of forever to have gotten a perm and not regretted it. I have always wanted curls. When I was younger, my mom would put leave-in rollers in my hair the night before Easter so I could go to church with luxurious, if not short-lived, ringlets once a year. And it was the most wonderful day of the year. When I was sixteen, I discovered that permanent curls were, in fact, a thing to be had; and that’s all I wanted for my birthday. My mom and I spent four hours in the salon, most of the time spent just putting my hair into the hundreds of rollers it took to curl my ridiculously thick hair. The rest of the time was spent trying not to pass out from the fumes. Once they were done, I became so paranoid of losing my curls that I would only comb my hair in the shower, if at all. This caused them to last much longer than expected, only for my hair to grow out into something very similar to a mangled 1980s blowout.

PERM RECEIPT MAY, 2007

HALF-BURNED CANDLES 2000-2005

PLACES ERAS MOMENTS

Camp I had a love-hate relationship with summer camp. The love part usually took place when I was home, reminiscing on my experiences. The hate part was every other camp moment. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but I definitely struggled with many of the aspects that make camp what it is, such as hiking, sleeping outside, and being on a schedule 24/7. I wouldn’t call myself a rebellious kid, but I definitely liked to do my own thing. I did make a lot of good friends and memories at camp, so I suppose all the anxiety was well worth it. These candles represent two different camp eras: Girl Scout Camp (2000-2002) and Camp Chingachgook (2003-2005). Both camps were very different,

but they shared the same end-of-camp sendoff ceremony, consisting of candle-lighting and campfire songs. At the time, the ceremonies were very significant and serene, yet they are now reduced to just four partially-burned candles at the bottom of a plastic bin. Though they represent the end of each camp session, they remind me of how proud I was of myself for making it through the week without any significant issues. As a very self-conscious kid, I found it hard to put myself out there and meet new people. I always made friends at camp, though, so there’s something to be said for why I kept going back.

ALL TH ANXIET WAS WE WORTH

HE TY ELL IT

PLACES PEOPLE ERAS MOMENTS

Family Trips Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not sure if my family actually took me on a lot of vacations when I was younger, but it feels like we went on a trip at least every summer. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve gone to Cape Cod, the Outer Banks, Maine, and Disney World, as well as Massachusetts, Buffalo, and Canada multiple times. Even more than my memories from elementary school, these trips have shaped my understanding of who I am in relation to

my family and to my world. I always looked forward to them; the process of getting there was always hours of anxious excitement, with a few naps peppered in here and there (a short-cut to our destination, according to my parents). These trips and their artifacts have become distilled in my memory as times of bonding, exploration, and fun.

ROCKS FROM VARIOUS BEACHES ALONG THE EAST COAST VARIOUS SUMMERS. 1998-2011 64

MOUSE-SNAKE PLUSH TOY SUMMER, 1998/1999

The rocks on the previous page are from a variety of vacations on many different beaches, kept for their aesthetic and memorial value. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve come to realize that I have never labeled where each rock is from, so they have all become jumbled up into a single collection. This has caused them to lose their individually-associated memory while creating larger groupings of general impressions within the collection. The obsessive compulsive half of my brain is driven crazy by not knowing which rock is from where, but the rest of my brain accepts the value of the larger emotional significance over the need for categorization.

This stuffed animal (left) is, however, associated with a particular place and person. I got this toy while on vacation in the Outer Banks one summer when I was about seven. It was purchased in a small shop on Okrakoke Island, a favorite destination amongst our group, and I primarily associate the toy with my cousin Laura. Because sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s my closest family member in age, we spent most of our time during that vacation together, playing (bickering). Laura and I fought about as much as we got along, if not more. The times that we were getting along, we were usually wearing matching outfits. It was either all or nothing with us. When I bought this stuffed toy, she wanted to have the same one; and that she did.

On the following page is a feather I got at Panama Rocks during a trip we took to Buffalo to visit my aunt and cousins. I was a brat throughout most of my young years, and this trip exemplifies exactly how I annoying I was to everyone around me. Though I have a vague recollection of the details of what happened, I have a better understanding of what I learned from the experience. The feather was reluctantly given to me by an actor participating in a Native American reenactment. I was throwing a whiney fit and I remember the man coming over to me, shoving a feather in my hand, and telling me to simmer down. I was equal parts mortified and satisfied, though I learned much more from the embarrassment. It was the first time anyone other than my parents had expressed extreme frustration with my behavior. Though tantrums did arise occasionally after this event, I was much more aware of my affect on other people. Part of me wants to believe that I kept the feather as a subconscious reminder to mind my manners.

NATIVE AMERICAN FEATHER 1995/1996

IT WAS EITHER OR NOT 69

S R ALL THING 70

This was one of the most emotionally memorable trips Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve taken with my parents, for reasons Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not entirely sure of. I was in seventh grade when my parents and I travelled to Boston, most likely to fill the time during a week-long break from school. We saw all the major sights around Boston harbor, including the aquarium and the nearby IMAX theater. On a whim, we decided to go see a movie there about the recovery of the Titanic from the ocean floor. I distinctly remember being disappointed about it because the title read deceivingly like a thriller. It was very

much a documentary. I did end up enjoying the movie, despite how much I reluctantly learned. When we got home from the trip, I oddly recall wanting to spend every waking minute with my parents. Meanwhile, the rest of my friends were entering their teenage years and trying their hardest to have nothing to do with theirs. The trip was lovely, if only for the wonderful quality time the three of us spent together, and the lingering sense of parental comfort I felt afterwards.

NEW ENGLAND AQUARIUM TICKETS FEBRUARY, 2004 72

Upon researching the actual origin of this keychain, I realized that I have a completely different memory associated with it than what actually happened. I bought this souvenir when I went on a trip to New York City with a group of my childhood girlfriends and their mothers. We went to the Natural History Museum and the Rose Center for Earth and Space, though I don’t recollect much about the trip; a likely reason why I have come to associate this object with an earlier trip my family took to Maryland. That trip occurred around 1998 or ‘99 when we traveled south to visit my aunt Peggy and uncle Fred. One of the days we were there, we went to the Maryland Science Center where I became relentlessly entranced with their interactive displays. I think my parents may have had to drag me out of there kicking and screaming. The most memorable part of that trip, as it is with most of the trips I have ever taken, was the souvenirs we brought home. We bought my dad a plastic container of “Mars Mud,” which was essentially an analogue fart sound machine, and my brother bought freeze dried ice cream. It seemed like a cool idea until he opened the package and it ended up looking like a dried up dish sponge. I think he ate it anyway. I do remember getting a mini flashlight on that trip but the battery must have died, though that clearly hasn’t stopped me from hanging onto this one.

When I was in middle school, my mom came up with the amazing idea to spend Christmas in Disney World, and the trip itself would be our Christmas present. This is most certainly the best idea anyone has ever thought of and is still my favorite Christmas to date. We went for about five days. And five glorious days those were. As a family of roller coaster enthusiasts, we made sure to go on any and every major roller coaster in three out of the four parks. It was amazing and none of us puked. I’m not sure if the parks still do this, but when we went, there was a big focus on buying and trading collectable pins. As is obvious on the next page, I really got into the collecting aspect; not so much the trading (I was quite shy). The only one that I did trade for was the Superstar Limo pin. One of the desk clerks at our hotel graciously arranged the trade with me because it was probably painfully obvious that I hadn’t traded for a single one of the pins that I had prominently displayed on my lanyard.

KEYCHAIN FLASHLIGHT 2002

DISNEY WORLD PINS WINTER, 2003-2004

REACH WORK CAMP PATCH 2004

MOMENTS PLACES PEOPLE

Reach When I was in my church youth group, we went on a mission trip every summer for about five years. One year, we even went to Mississippi to help with Katrina relief. During the summer of 2004, we went to Reach in West Virginia. That year, we were experimenting with running our mission trips through a larger organization so we didn’t have to plan out every minute of our days. Reach is a Christian organization that combines hands-on volunteer work with prayer. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s intended for either the religiously pious or the ethnically guilty. We knew that Reach practiced a very evangelical sect of Protestantism, very

different from our more relaxed Presbyterian faith, but we didn’t expect how over-the-top it would be. We spent much of the week discussing how uncomfortable we were during the twice-daily devotional times; though we did meet some amazing people and had a great experience overall. One aspect that made the camp interesting was the fact that our youth group was split up between smaller work groups, where we were able to meet kids and leaders from other parts of the country. I even picked up a southern accent for a few days (though its potential

DAILY POSITIVE NOTES 2004

artificiality was a hotly-contested issue amongst members of my youth group). Every day, we were encouraged to write positive messages praising one other for successes at the job site and slip them into manila envelopes with their names on them. These notes on the left, as well as on the following page, are some of the ones I received in my envelope. Reading through them, they instantly trigger a series of emotions ranging from pride to embarrassment to excitement. I matured a lot during my week at Reach Work Camps, finding myself eagerly adopting positions of leadership, particularly on the job sites. That week was also a great bonding experience for my dad and I, as can be gathered from his note on the following page. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t remember exactly what his apology was for, as Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sure I dropped any resentment or anger towards him shortly after receiving this message.

DAILY NOTE FROM DAD, FRONT AND BACK 2004

IT ALL A LOT SENSE T ME NOW

MAKES MORE TO W

TOY SEAL 1998

PEOPLE MOMENTS

Dad As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun to realize more and more how similar my dad and I actually are. It’s a little scary sometimes. All the jokes, the angry explosions, the constant need to create, the meticulous collection of curious objects; it all makes a lot more sense to me now. When I was younger, these characteristics of his were a thing of wonder and occasional frustration. However, now they are just an accepted part of my life and a significant part of my own character as well. They have made me feel that much more intertwined with my family and my roots. Even today, my dad continues to give me objects that he’s found and kept for me because either he thought they were interesting or felt that I might. And, even though

at the time of acquisition, these objects may not have had much meaning to me, they’ve developed a synonymy with my dad and with the connection that we share. The toy seal on the left was not actually given to me by my dad, but he was present when I received it. He used to bring me along on errands around town in what seemed to me at the time to be the biggest non-commercial van manufactured. He used to keep a recliner in the back of it that would slide around as he accelerated and turned corners, and functioned as a second passenger seat. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle I survived to adulthood. This particular day, he brought me to visit a friend

AUTHENTIC CLIMBING FIGURE-EIGHT 2013

of his who is a traditional sign painter in Albany and a local standard. I was probably eight or nine at the time, so I obviously had no interest in their conversation. Instead, I noticed this toy (previous page) on one of Frank’s shelves and decided that I loved it. Here, the story splits into two parts in my memory. Half of me wants to say that Frank noticed my interest in the toy and offered it to me, and the other half wants to say that I got sad or pitched a fit when we were leaving and he gave it to me out of pity or frustration. I want to believe that the former was what actually happened, but my childhood track record would suggest the latter.

The climbing figure-eight (right) has no story, other than that my dad either found it or already had it and decided to give it to me one day. I kept it for three reasons: 1. It’s actually an incredible piece of equipment; 2. Who knows, I might need it some day; and 3. I thought it was so hilariously random, and so typical of my dad, that I couldn’t think to refuse it.

The small toys on the following page were a little more expected in terms of their time of reception, but no less silly. Every year, my dad gets these windup toys from some mysterious source and places one in each of our Christmas stockings. This is a collection over multiple years, and it’s still growing. Each toy moves in a different way, making them that much more interesting and adorable. It’s easy to understand my dad’s role in our family as the one with the goofy sense of humor.

PLASTIC WIND-UP TOYS CHRISTMAS, 2009-2013

These were another silly gift from my dad that combine our mutual love for both humor and art. The flip book on the left depicts Mona Lisa slowly revealing a big toothy grin, until the end where she winks saucily; and the one on the right zooms in on the base of Rodinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Thinker, where someone has photoshopped in a roll of toilet

COMEDIC FLIP BOOKS UNKNOWN

paper. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re really pretty stupid, though theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not intended to be anything but that; and thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s exactly what I love about these things my dad has given me: they serve no other purpose than to exist and bring momentary joy into my life. For the most part, they are not useful or practical, but they brighten my day and make me smile.

PEOPLE PLACES MOMENTS

Mom I’ve always been a momma’s girl, ever since I was a toddler, “helping” her in the kitchen (licking the spoon and making a mess). Between the ages of about five and twelve, there was nothing I wanted more than to spend a girls’ day with my mom. We would go shopping, get our nails done, take a walk; basically anything that involved just the two of us. The artifacts I have from those experiences remain very precious to me, as they actively preserve the feelings of love and affection that my mom has given me.

I’m not sure where or when I received the hand lotion on the following page, but I don’t think it particularly matters. The memory is fuzzy, but the emotion that’s lingering is keeping me from throwing away this tiny, half-used, likely expired beauty product. I’m not even a huge fan of the smell, but it’s a direct reminder of my mom so I can’t let it go.

WHITE LILAC HAND LOTION UNKNOWN 94

LETTERS FROM MOM AT GIRL SCOUT CAMP AND CAMP CHINGACHGOOK 1999-2002, 2005

My mother’s handwriting is borderline sacred to me. I don’t think I have ever gotten rid of anything that had as much as her signature on it. Because of this, her letters to me while I was at camp are particularly cherished. I began going to sleepaway camp when I was in 3rd grade. Even though my mom probably looked forward to the few days I would be out of the house, that feeling apparently only lasted a few hours; I would almost always have a letter waiting for me two or three days into my week-long stay. Even into my melodramatic pre-teen years, I always looked forward to my mom’s letters. They usually consisted of a recap of what had gone on in the day and a half that I had been gone (i.e. the dog misses you, you got a catalogue in the mail, etc.) but they also were an expression of absolute, unconditional love. Even now, reading back through these letters makes me feel home and comforted, regardless of where I am.

MOTHER’S SIGNATURE, FROM CAMP LETTER

Before my parents and I went to Boston in seventh grade, my mom and I travelled there alone for a consultation she had regarding an ear surgery. She invited me along as another girls trip. While we were there, we went to the Mary Baker Eddy Library, a Christian Science landmark. Inside they have a large glass globe that you can walk inside of, the acoustics of which are incredible. We were told that if you say something on one side of the globe, it can be heard crystal clear on the other. My mom wanted us to test it out, so she encouraged me to say something. I remember being so embarrassed because there were other people there that I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to say anything. For some reason, the guilt of refusing my mom even just that small request is still there. I kept the entrance sticker from the Library partially because of that regret, as if throwing it away was another betrayal.

ENTRANCE STICKER 2004 100

HAND-SEWN AMERICAN GIRL BADGES EARLY 2000s

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I was a huge fan of the American Girl franchise up until high school. I had it all: the doll, the clothes, the books, the bed, the dresser, the adorable canine companion named Coconut; everything. American Girl cranked out more things I wanted in a month of catalogues than we could afford in ten Christmases. I most certainly didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get everything I wanted, but I did have enough American Girl paraphernalia to give five dolls interesting and fulfilling hobbies (I even had a spa set). Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not sure who set these up, but there used to be American Girl events that mothers and daughters could attend as a fun Saturday activity and a meaningful bonding experience. My mom and I went to two of them. They could not have been more closely catered to my tastes if they tried. The day consisted of lunch, featuring absolutely darling finger sandwiches, a fashion show for matching girl and doll clothes, and crafts galore, one of my favorite pastimes. There was also a raffle, where I won something for one of the first times in my life (I used to consider myself pretty unlucky). I won a small purse and a colorful scrunchie, both of which I still have. These badges (left) were one of the organized crafts they had us do. We were essentially given a set of materials and could make what we wanted. My mom always claims that sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not artistically inclined in any way, but her badges were definitely much better than mine.

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EVEN WHE WASN’T T TO BE AN I WAS BE ANNOYING

EN I TRYING NNOYING, EING G

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PEOPLE MOMENTS ERAS

Oliver My brother is almost exactly eight years older than me, give or take a month or two. When I was born, he was eight; when I was eight, he was sixteen; etc. And I thought Oliver was the coolest human being on the planet, regardless of how hard he poked me to get me to shut up. As the younger sister, it was my job to be as annoying as possible. I developed that skill to the point where, even when I wasn’t trying to be annoying, I was being annoying. He moved out of the house when I was eleven or twelve, and for a while we were very distant, only seeing each other once every month or so. Since we’ve both gotten older, we’ve spent a lot more time together and have grown much closer. It’s been so nice getting to know my brother all over again as an adult, and I

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can tell that our parents love it too. He still beats me up occasionally, but at least now I have a better chance of defending myself. A lot of the memories from my childhood have become confused with dreams. However, even if the memory of this toy was completely fabricated by my subconscious, it is still exclusively associated with my brother. I used to love those chachke vending machines that they had right near the grocery store door. I can only assume they’re placed there as one last kick in the pants for parents who have kids with a bad case of the “gimmes.” I was one of those kids. Oliver took me to the Price Chopper one night when I was seven or eight to pick up something, and on the way out I

TINY PLASTIC DOG FIGURINE UNKNOWN 106

M. C. ESCHER MAGNETIC MATCHING TOY UNKNOWN

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ASSORTED PATCHES VARIOUS YEARS

became completely overwhelmed with the desire to get something out of one of those machines. More likely than not, I threw a tantrum, but I recall that Oliver gave in more readily than usual and offered me 50¢ for the machine. Even though what came out was the smallest and most useless toy I had ever seen, I loved it because my brother had allowed me to get it and was relatively nice about it; a rare occurrence between the two of us at the time given our tendency to fight.

I was also a huge sucker for Oliver’s hand-me-downs. They could have been oversized, wornout, or old; I didn’t care. Anything that my brother had previously owned was automatically cool. This includes the M. C. Escher toy to the left, the used patches above, and the stolen NC-17 sign on the following page. Each are from a different period in his life, which also correspond to separate periods in my own. When I had originally kept them, they were my way of feeling closer to my brother, but now they just remind me of how much closer we’ve become. 108

PLASTIC NC-17 SIGN UNKNOWN

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SMALL HAND-PAINTED BOX CHRISTMAS, UNKNOWN YEAR

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PEOPLE ERAS

Katy I don’t know as much about my sister Katy as I do the other members of my family. She’s my half sister, my dad’s daughter from a previous marriage, and is sixteen years older than me; an age difference that made it hard to really get to know one another. Though we weren’t the closest of sisters, I always looked up to her and thought she was one of the coolest people I knew. She moved to Australia when I was relatively young to live with her husband

where she has since had seven kids, all of whom are the cutest things I’ve ever seen. Even though she is 10,000 miles away, before she was overrun with young ones, Katy almost always remembered to send me a gift on Christmas and a hand-made card on my birthday. I didn’t realize until recently how amazing those gestures truly were. The box on the left was one of those Christmas gifts which she both hand-painted and personalized.

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KOALA WRIST POUCH CHRISTMAS, UNKNOWN YEAR

This was another Christmas gift from a different year that I thought was too cute and too silly to get rid of, regardless of its practical value. This is a change purse that has a Velcro wrist strap on it so you can take your coins with you everywhere you go, a necessity in todayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fast-paced and ever-changing world. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been stationed on a shelf in my curio cabinet, diligently keeping watch over my miniature tea set and collection of sea shells, though it holds no change.

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The CD on the following page is the object that holds the most significance in relation to my sister. Though a CD is not an unusual object to keep over a number of years, the number of times I have listened to it on repeat is certainly irregular. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a full-length recording of her a capella group from college, called The New Group. They sang covers and comedic renditions of popular songs from the 90s and I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get enough of it. I still listen to it from time to time, though Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve recently come to realize that they were much funnier than they were virtuosic. 114

THE NEW GROUP, “BLASTING THROUGH OCTOBER” 1995

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THEY WO ALWAYS DRAWING 117

OULD HANG MY GS ABOVE 118

PEOPLE ERAS MOMENTS

Reszin Ted &

The following are objects received from my childhood babysitters, Reszin and Ted Adams, for various Christmases and birthdays. They have been longtime family friends and muchloved additions to our yearly family gatherings. When they used to watch me, I would sit at their kitchen table coloring while Ted did his daily crossword (in pen) and Reszin made something for us to eat. They would always hang my drawings above their hearth, regardless of how non-pictorial or half-hearted

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they were. Unfortunately, Ted passed away in 2012. These objects represent to me the part I played in their lives, and vice versa. The objects also hold with them the unconditional love that Reszin and Ted have shown me throughout my life. While each object doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have a specific story associated with it, the collective depth of emotion associated with the objects as a whole is more than can be properly explained.

SMALL STONE BOX WITH NOTE INSIDE CHRISTMAS, UNKNOWN YEAR 120

ASSORTED SMALL BOXES CHRISTMAS, VARIOUS YEARS, 1991-2009

As long as I have known them, Reszin and Ted have given me small boxes and exotic trinkets for Christmas, sometimes filled with jewelry or coins. They occupy a small amount of space in reality, yet a significantly large amount of space in my emotional memory. Because Ted is now gone, these objects embody my memories of who he was. In the past few years, most likely due to the nature of passing time, my Christmas gifts have mostly consisted of money and chocolate (not that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m complaining by any degree). 121

SMALL BEADED DOLL UNKNOWN 122

LETTER AND ENVELOPES NOVEMBER, 2012

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This was the letter I received from Reszin, thanking me for playing marimba at Tedâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s funeral. The venue was very noisy and there werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t many people listening or paying attention, so this appreciation was very welcomed. I was glad I had the opportunity to show my love and support for Reszin, as well as my respect for Ted, much like the kind the two have shown me my whole life. The second envelope contained a quick birthday note written on pink printer paper with the scrawled handwriting that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve come to know and love so well.

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PEOPLE MOMENTS

Garrett Garrett has been my rock for the past three plus years of my life. It’s so cliche to say, but he’s my partner in crime and has helped me through so many tough times. He’s been the reason for my happiest moments and has stuck by my side when things haven’t been as great. Though the memories associated with these objects are still relatively fresh, I keep them to remember the minute details which get lost in the day-to-day. The place cards on the following page came from my cousin Sara’s wedding over the summer of 2013.

Every invitation I received for this wedding was addressed to both myself and Garrett as a couple. I already knew that Sara really liked Garrett from the few times that she met him, but it was still a very nice gesture. This family acceptance and approval didn’t come as a surprise, because Garrett is great to me and is a wonderful person in general, but the message the invitations sent was reassuring in regards to both my relationship with Garrett and with my family.

TABLE PLACE CARDS AUGUST, 2013 125

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This is an inside joke between Garrett and I, and I think it really epitomizes our relationship. When we first started dating, we knew we were each goofy in our own ways and really loved to poke fun at each other. Whenever we were being particularly ridiculous, usually in a childish way, we would start to speak very sweetly and ask the other, “Do you wanna go to the store? You want some peanut brittle?” Thus cuing the other to nod dejectedly and calm their antics, all before breaking out into uproarious laughter. The Christmas after we began using this quip, Garrett bought me actual peanut brittle. We both knew he didn’t get it for me as a delicious treat, but rather completely as a joke. I had to keep it for the sheer comedic value.

PEANUT BRITTLE PACKAGE LABEL CHRISTMAS, 2011 127

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A TIMELINE IN OBJECTS

PAST

PRESENT