Am I Erasing Memories?

How do we draw the line between straightforward downsizing and memory erasure?

If moving into a smaller space were simply all about shedding the detritus that we no longer want, use, or realistically require, it would be really easy. I would simply call 1-800-Junk and dispose of everything except the bed, a TV (Hello, Murdoch Mysteries!), a couple of place settings, and toilet paper. (I tend to splurge in this area.)

But reality's a bitch, right?

I wrote the other day about the "rules" we have adopted and attempted to adhere to during this time of upheaval. But I have also become acutely aware of the passionate sentimentality associated with each and every item we are sifting through. Everything from old toys to broken picture frames seems to have a memory attached to it. I must admit that I wasn't fully prepared for the tsunami of emotion that has flattened me as we purge and pack. The Husband has taken to gently mocking me for assigning double the amount of time to every task because I have either had to take photographs of things or write full-throated blog defenses in favour of keeping them.

I know that I can't possibly keep it all and we have already divested ourselves of huge swaths of possessions in order to start afresh. But every so often I am struck by yet another wave of angst that suggests that perhaps I am not paying proper respect to the past and the memories of those whom I cherished.

Yesterday I came across this.

This old-style tin coin bank was given to me by my grandfather. He passed away when I was only three and half years old and my memories of him are reduced to a few old pictures and stories from my mom. I have nothing that belonged to him. He was a man of simple means and there were a lot of us grandchildren, so gifts were rarely extravagant. This child's toy is the only gift that I own that he gave exclusively to me. My mother can't recall if it was a birthday or Chanukah present, but for years she wouldn't allow me to part with it. When my parents downsized from their house to a condo, I took it and it has been in my basement ever since.

Will I display it? Probably not.

Do I have a use for it? Absolutely not

Will I sell it? Positively not.

Will I donate it? Well...therein lies the conundrum.

To the untrained eye, this is junk. It belongs in a garage sale. To me, it is the only tangible connection  to a long-lost member of my family. To me, parting with this item is like erasing his memory, my only memory of him.

This moving exercise has opened up a lifetime of emotional responses. I am living in daily conflict between brutal reality and sepia-coloured reminiscence. And...it isn't at all fun.

First World Moving Rules

Before I delve into the real core of this post, I cannot and will not pretend that the things that I am describing are anything other than first world problems. When I talk of moving and the inevitable "downsizing" that goes along with it, I am continually aware of how fortunate I am to have been in a stable home for all of these years, to have had the luxury of accumulating the massive amounts of "stuff" that we are shedding, and to recollect the memories that go along with all of those possessions. I am making every effort to make certain that these things are not just disposed of but instead are being carefully recycled, reissued, reused, and reinvigorated. We are donating, sharing, giving, and repurposing. We will be holding our first-ever garage sale in a couple of weeks, (I am certain that it will be the subject of a stand-alone post) an event we both have carefully avoided for over three decades but understand the necessity of if we want to properly divest ourselves of more shit. But, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the intense feelings of obsolescence and advancing seniority that has come along with this endeavour. When The Husband posted a picture this week of all of our outmoded electronic components, I had to laugh, but I also despaired just a bit at how much money had been invested and how easily we tended to discard the "not-so-old" and replace it with the "not-much-better."

We have had to adhere to some carefully crafted rules for this downsizing project as to what is a "keeper" and what is a "toss". Most times it has been easy. I mean, who really needs to keep the lucite Magen David paperweight given to Older Son as a Bar Mitzvah gift? Certainly not Older Son. (If you were the person or persons who lovingly chose and gave this as a gift, my sincere apologies, but somebody who shopped at Value Village probably has it by now.) It does get a bit awkward when we can't seem to agree on the inherent sentimentality of an object or if said object meets the standard of our collective taste. Thus, the rules.

1. If it hasn't been used or worn in over a year, it's a toss.
This has been our rule of thumb for clothing, linens, towels and the like. Yes, there are exceptions like the Elmo sweatshirt that Older Son wore every day for a solid year or the children's sweaters knitted by The Husband's grandmother, but keeping a worn-out blanket because it used to be on the boys' beds and may invoke nostalgia for those nighttime parent/child reading rituals, is not enough of a reason to retain it and have it take up precious storage space. Find a book that conjures up the same memories and treasure that instead.

2. Try to not become a slave to new technology.
Yes, you read that correctly. I said new technology. I wrote last week about my dilemma of disposing of our vast collection of vinyl, cassette tapes, VHS tapes, and DVDs. While digitizing much of the music has already been accomplished, we are still hanging on to the original recordings. I just cannot seem to part company with the music sources of my youth. That said, we have thus far donated almost one hundred boxes of books and there are more still to come. We are keeping important volumes, hardcover children's classics, a few autographed editions, and our Judaic collection, but the old textbooks, beach-reading novels, computer manuals, and 3 sets of encyclopaedias are gone. We have thoroughly embraced e-reading and would rather keep the space for multimedia.

3. Photographs NEVER get tossed. 
I don't care how old or ragged they look, photos are an always keep. The same goes for family videos, the boys' plays recorded on VHS, wedding albums from our parents, and yearbooks. This should not require explanation or justification.

4. If you can't identify it, it goes. 
I had a true WTF moment with this charming little gadget.

We later identified it as a citrus juicer but just the mere fact that we had no idea what it was, sent it off to Value Village.

5. If it makes you weep uncontrollably, it is a keeper. 
Such was our find of a 1995 recording of Younger Son chanting the Four Questions. I. Could. Not. Stop. Crying. The Husband, visibly touched by my waterworks, immediately set about transferring the old cassette to digital. It is now safely catalogued on my computer, but the original stays.

6. There is no sentimentality attached to furniture...unless....
Some of our furniture is being donated. Some of the smaller items are being sold at the garage sale. But what of those pieces that fall between the house/condo cracks?

My grandmother did all of the needlework on this bench back in the early 70s. It used to sit at the foot of my bed in my childhood room. I haven't had a place for it in years but it has followed me around through five moves and 31 years of marriage. This one is still in the toss-up category.

7. There is no sentimentality attached to dishes...unless...
My Sister/Cousin told me this week of her quietly absconding with her mother's rolling pin during the packing up of their house. There is no monetary value to the item, but the memories are precious to her. I get that. There is a tea set that my grandmother's brother brought over from Germany after the war. It was owned by a Jewish family and kept hidden. They didn't survive the war but the tea set did. It's a keeper.

8. Elmo stays. It's a hard and fast rule.
Older Son had a bit of a think over Elmo yesterday but chose to leave him behind. I said that there was no way that was happening. He is getting a bath today and will make the move with us. Space be damned.

And therein lies the true complication of downsizing. How do I separate a battered and worn stuffed doll from its cornucopia of memories? Which items go and which items stay? It is the Unetaneh Tokef of moving. Who shall live to see ripe age and who shall not....

5 weeks and counting.

**Look around your personal space. Are there things that you could easily do without? Are there things that are must keeps? Let me know in the comments section.**

What Should I Do With All That Stuff?

A quick hit from the depths of purging, purifying, and packing.

I had a fascinating conversation with Younger Son last weekend. While he cleaned out the last remnants of his time here at the house in the North Jewish Ghetto, I asked him what he thought I should do with the hundreds of CDs, vinyl albums, cassette tapes, DVDs, and VHS tapes that we have accumulated. Let me be clear. These collective recordings represent a huge part of our lives, our musical and film tastes defined, not to mention, thousands of dollars spent. There is little doubt in my mind that each album, tape, or disc can trigger a memory; perhaps it was a long-ago attended concert or great times with friends. Whatever the situation, there is also no doubt that this entire collection is comprised of outdated technology that struggles to be played in a home that no longer boasts a VCR, a working turntable, a cassette player, or even a computer with a CD/DVD slot. We have, like many others, become a digital home whereby our multimedia experiences are measured in gigabytes consumed.

Younger Son's response to my dilemma did not surprise me in the least. He is a minimalist at heart. He told me to junk it all. (Oh, the horror!!) Like many of his generation, he sees no need for superfluous consumption and extraneous items that simply have no storage space. He reminded me that he gets all of his music from services like Apple Music and Spotify, and watches whatever he wishes, whenever he wishes from various on-demand sites like Netflix and Shomi. In many ways, he has simplified his life by not cluttering his space with stuff that no longer has any tangible value.

And yet....

I am truly struggling with the idea of tossing out our media collection. Even if I never play any of it ever again, there is something tremendously distasteful to me about the idea that so much creative brilliance has become obsolete in what really amounts to less than half a century. Now, please do not label me a Luddite. I am not for a moment suggesting that the advances in technology haven't been for the better, nor am I saying that I haven't been caught up in the tsunami of new gadgets. Rather, I am attempting to reconcile the ideas of technological obsolescence with artistic maintenance. How can I continue to enjoy many of these rare and wonderful recordings, (all legally obtained, by the way!) without re-cluttering my personal space with worn out gadgets and outdated media components?

I suppose what has me really unnerved is the idea that art no longer seems to have any permanence. Sure I can watch It's a Wonderful Life, but only if it is on at Christmastime, Netflix allows it, or I choose to rebuy it in a digital format. It's kind of like saying that one can only view the Mona Lisa online because the Louvre no longer permits visitors.

Younger Son's response while slightly brutal and just a wee bit dismissive, struck directly at the heart of the matter. In this age of downsizing and placing a premium on our space, holding on to these recordings with no thought of ever playing them again is a luxury for certain. We have chosen a new lifestyle and difficult choices need to be made to facilitate it, but that doesn't mean that I have to enjoy this aspect of the purge.

I would love to hear your comments on this matter. How have you consolidated your media collections, if you have undertaken such an endeavour? Do you hold on like I have because the thought of disposing of stuff is anathema? When is it time to part with stuff like this? Please comment. I'm curious.

Seattle and Home

We will be traveling all day today, so I thought that I would use the time to post one final time from this exquisite jaunt. Since we have been up since 3:00am in order to catch an early morning flight out of Seattle and a connection out of San Francisico home, and I am once again heavily medicated, I thought that I might write this missive as seen through the eyes of an eight year old, mostly because that is the extent of my brainpower at the moment.

So...

Dear Diary,

This has been a really really really good vacation. Before we left Toronto, Barry promised me that I would see lots and lots of animals and mountains. He was right. We saw whales and seals and sea lions and sea otters and bald eagles and even a moose. Barry was sad because we didn't see any bears, even though Alaska is supposed to have lots of them. 

On Wednesday, we flew from Anchorage to Seattle. We would have gone to Vancouver, but there is only one flight a day from Anchorage to Vancouver and we wouldn't have had enough time, so we thought that Seattle looked like fun so we came here. Barry said that our flight had Wifi but we had to pay for it. I think that after paying all that money to fly, the Wifi should be free, but Barry says that's how airlines make their money. I think airlines are a ripoff. We didn't get to our hotel until really really late, so all we could do was sleep. 

The next day was Thursday. It was very sunny which was strange because I read on the interwebs that Seattle gets lots and lots of rain. We took the "link" which is kind of like a subway but lighter and faster. I remember our old Toronto mayor talking about how he didn't like these kind of trains because they would block cars. Barry says that these trains are cheaper than subways. Barry says that more people would get to use them. Barry says that they are faster. Barry says that our old mayor was a stupidhead who didn't know very much. Barry says that he died. That's sad, but I think that he was still wrong about subways. Seattle's fast trains on the roads are really fun and great. Lots of people use them every day. 

We got to ride to the top of the Space needle which is kind of like a baby CN Tower. We were really high and could see right across Puget Sound. We also got to go to a museum filled with glass art by a guy named Chihuly. It was pretty and it sparkled and it had lots of colours. I was worried that someone would trip and fall and break all the glass, but we were all very careful. I really like Mr. Chihuly's art. He really knows a lot about glass.

My favourite part of Thursday in Seattle was going to the EMP Museum and seeing all the guitars. I really like guitars. They had a Martin that was really old from the 1800's. I have a Martin guitar too but it isn't that old. I also liked the Martin guitar that used to be owed by one of my favourite folk singers, Woody Guthrie. He wrote lots of songs like "This Land is Your Land" and he carved a message into the back of his guitar that said "This machine fights fascism." I think Barry might be mad if I carved a message into the back of my Martin guitar because it cost a lot of money. 

We also saw a whole room that was all about an old rock star named Jimi Hendrix. He was a really good guitar player from a long time ago and he was born in Seattle. We also saw a whole room that was all about a rock group called Nirvana. They were also from Seattle. It was sort of interesting. I don't really like a lot of their music. Barry says it's 'cause I'm too old and their music is for younger kids. 

On Friday, we went to Pike's Place Market. Barry says that it is one of the oldest farmer's markets in the United States. There were so many people buying stuff. I almost got crushed. We saw some men throwing fish. It was silly. I  really liked the market. There were so many things to eat and see and it is all fresh. We also took a boat tour around the harbour. It was cold and wet because it was finally raining like the interwebs said. Anyway, I am tired of being on boats. I think I will stay off them for a little while. After lunch, Barry took me for a Frappucino at the very first Starbucks location. He took my picture there. He says it was meta, whatever that means. 

We went back to the hotel early because we had to get up really really early to go to the airport. I think early morning flights are stupid, but it was the only way for us to get home without arriving in the middle of the night. Barry says it's because of something called time zones. I think time zones are stupid. 

This was a really fun vacation. Barry says that we will take another one soon. I like to travel but I also like being at home. See you soon Toronto.

**Note:  The Husband is a really good sport about these blog posts. 

Some Random Thoughts

We have been at sea since yesterday, so I thought that I'd use the time to reflect on some scattered thoughts about this wondrous trip so far. These are presented in no particular order, and if they seem somewhat incoherent it is because I am heavily medicated due to a slightly rocky ocean. No baseball caps have be thus far necessary, but I am keeping it close at hand. 

• As we sailed through the incredibly calm and majestic waters of Glacier Bay yesterday, I couldn't help but revel in the beauty and I yearned for a closer and more personal view. I have several friends who kayak as a hobby, and one in particular has been trying to get me into a boat for years. For a variety of reasons; cold, wet, potentially choppy waters, I have consistently found reasons to avoid the experience. Yesterday, as I saw kayakers smoothly paddle towards the mouth of the glaciers, I couldn't help but feel envious. I could only imagine the joy of coming face to face with a sea lion or sea otter, or even being in the near presence of an orca pod. If my friend is still willing to coach a rookie, I might have to give kayaking a try. (But only on clam flat water and not in near freezing temperatures. I'm still me after all.)

• We have had many discussions during our weekly Torah study as to the sentience of beings other than humans. And while science is still split on how various animals think and feel, I have always believed that there is real emotion and intellectual brilliance in that world, especially amongst higher order mammals. The whales, dolphins, porpoises, seals, and otters we have viewed in their natural homes throughout this trip have just reinforced that notion for me. These are socially advanced creatures with a strong need to nurture, maintain family bonds, and communicate. Watching an eagle carefully feed her young in a nest high above the confines of my earth, only further demonstrates to me that we are at our most arrogant when we pretend that animals are here for the sole purpose to serve us. Now, I am certainly not advocating for everybody to suddenly stop eating meat, but I am most definitely suggesting that a more mindful way of thinking about how we use animal products in our everyday existences would go a long way towards an environmentally sustainable way of life. We share this planet, we don't rule it. 

• If you have the opportunity, you must travel. It doesn't matter how you do it or where you choose to go, but staying home should never be the only option. There is a world outside your front door. Open it. Explore your neighbourhoods and then your cities or towns. Walk, hike, bike, bus, drive, boat...just get out there and greet the world. You can stay local or go exotic, rural or urban. It can be inexpensive or first class, it matters not. Just reach beyond the parochialism of your safety zone and see something new. All of our world views could use some expansion. This is a trip I honestly never thought we would take. The chilling temperatures up here are definitely not in my comfort zone of the tropics. How I would have missed out had I not ventured beyond the comfortable. 

• One final point...and it is an important piece of advice. Never ever ever get between cruising Americans and their path to the buffet. We have been elbowed, stepped on, crushed, and nearly trampled. I am trying not to assign national labels to such behaviour, but my anecdotal experience on this particular ship has been that this is an exclusively American issue. Be on the lookout for the Stars and Stripes while online for food. 

That's all for now. Tomorrow we are in Whittier and then we fly south from Anchorage to Seattle. See you again from Washington State. 

Today in Skagway

If today was just another day from this magnificent vacation north, I might have written about our Jeep trip and off-roading adventure from Skagway, through White Pass, back over the Canadian border, and on up to Carcross Yukon following in the footsteps of those afflicted with gold fever as they headed towards the Klondike. 

If today was just another day, I would give a silly recounting of our numerous Jeep mishaps and how we had to leave one vehicle abandoned by the side of the road due to electrical issues, and how another leaked water through the roof and had the "check engine" light on for the entirety of the trip. (Insert Big Bang Theory joke here.)

If today was just another day, I might wax poetic about the craziness of our off-road drive up the side of a mountain and how my bony little butt is an ill-equipped shock absorber.

I might go on to regale you with stories from our time in Skagway; about the rich history of this sleepy little town, and how they have kept the legends of the gold miners alive with tales of booze, broads, and gambling. 

I would show you beautiful photographs taken by The Husband and me that, despite their perfection, still cannot adequately capture the glory of this land.

But...

Today clearly wasn't  just another day. Today has been tainted by the horrific news out of Orlando and it feels somewhat off-putting to write frivolously. 

Today...I stood near the top of the world and realized how far away the hate felt from up there. I let the distance engulf me and I allowed myself to be swept up in its peace. Today...I remembered those lost as I let beauty wash away ugliness. And today...I desperately wished for a return to frivolity and silliness.

Zichronam Livracha...May their memories always be for blessing.

Our Disappearing Glaciers

The Talmud tells the story of The scholar Choni. As Choni is walking one day, he comes across an old man planting a carob tree.

"How long will it be until the tree bears fruit?" asks Choni.

"Seventy years or more," answers the old man.

"Are you so healthy and well that you expect to live long enough to see the fruits of your labours?" Choni asks.

"I found a world full of fruit because my ancestors planted it for me and so I am planting for my children." 

Psalm 24 tells us that "The earth is Adonai's and the fullness thereof." It should follow that needless and wanton destruction of that which God has created should be considered a grave offense. Judasim calls this concept bal tashchit meaning do not destroy. 

We are but caretakers of this earth and it is our responsibility to maintain a holy creation. So it pained me today to see a tangible symbol of how we have shirked our stewardship. 

We made our way from Juneau through the rain and fog to the Mendenhall Glacier. The glacier is about 12 miles in length, a half mile wide, and anywhere from 300 to 1800 feet deep. The visuals of this massive blue/white ice field cascading down into the mouth of Mendenhall Lake is breathtaking and just a bit awe-inspiring. But, as we hiked the trails into the park to get a better vantage point, it struck me that this was incredibly sad. The rock on both sides of the ice field are clearly visible and it is obvious how much the glacier has receded in recent years. Several years ago when we travelled Newfoundland, I remember thinking that while the icebergs we saw were magnificent, there was something very disturbing about how prolific they were. Now I fully understand that discomfort.

I had a chat with one of the park rangers and she showed us a time lapse image of the glacier's recession in only the past 8 years. The results were frightening and heartbreaking. The field is shrinking by almost 650 feet per year and the estimates are that by the year 2100, sixty percent of the glacier will have melted. If that is not evidence of climate change, I'm not certain what is.

It is incumbent upon all of us to accept the responsibility of care for this planet. We must all be like the old man from whom Choni learned. We must be the solution, not part of the problem.