Anthropology & Archeology

It was a weekend to be grateful for family. Bigbro and J1 came down from the CT and outfitted me with essentials from the 'burbs ranging from Target toiletries to IKEA bookcases. Bigbro and I went out to the uncharted territories beyond Manhattan (Jersey City and Elizabeth) to Macy's, Bed Bath & Beyond, and IKEA for a full, terrifying day of shopping along with the masses and doing our part to propel the global economy. And then he put together my enormous bookcase. And it was good to have family here.

I bought a bed, a bookcase, a microwave, 4 chairs, a shoerack, a dishrack, and a plethora of other things yesterday, all of which were necessary and helpful, but for right now, the bookcase is the best and most helpful of them all. Flat surfaces on which to put my crap! Yay!

While bigbro was masterfully and speedily assembling the bookcase, I got a lesson in NY apartment living -- about 30 minutes into it (8:30 pm on a Saturday night), I heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?" I called out. No answer. I got up to take a look and saw no one through the peephole, but then noticed a sheet of paper had been slipped under the door.

It was a many-copied form document titled "To the residents of [ ]... Please, keep quiet!" This text followed: "Everyone living in an apartment building in New York knows that silence can be hard to come by. The soundproofing is often very poor, but it should not be impossible to find peace and quiet. It will only take a little consideration and co-operation by the residents. We with that everyone in our building would be considerate of their neighbors. New York City apartment rules and regulations are easy to follow."

Ten rules were laid out, and my neighbor had helpfully put a red arrow and underlined #9: "Positively no hammering or construction work in the evenings."

To which I say, "Ah, screw you."

I'm sensitive to noise, and I would have been bothered by the hammering, yes. But to drop a note like that and not face the culprit? Not classy. I didn't get to apologize, which I would have, or explain that (1) I didn't know this was a rule; (2) it would only last 15 minutes longer (thanks to bigbro's speediness); and (3) this was a one-time occurrence that was only happening now because we had limited time this weekend to put the bookcase together.

But I didn't get to do that. So I'm explaining it to you. Because when someone judges you, it's hard to not feel like, Hey! I'm a good person. You don't even know me!

After a marathon day of spending (it hurts me), assembling (yay, bigbro!) and Indian food delivery (mm, tasty), I almost went straight to bed. But it seemed wrong to let that bookcase just sit empty. So I finally opened up one of the 6 storage containers I had in Mr. H's basement for five years, and continued today clearing them out.

Wow. Such a time capsule. Everything in there is what I valued five years ago, clearing out of Our Nation's Capital: the books, the pictures, the knicknacks, the memories. I looked through albums of college and DC photos, marveled at the books I read so long ago, and smiled over small mementos and gifts from the places and people in my life then.

It's a little startling to be reminded in such visceral form of who you used to be. I ran across a series of five watercolors I did from paintings that struck my fancy in various museums I had gone to. (I used to be artistic!) (Or tried, anyway.) My piano and saxophone and guitar books and sheet music are still in good shape. (I used to play music!) Shortly before I left DC, I somehow acquired a full set of bakeware (perhaps a freebie from my credit card company?), because I loved making complicated cakes at The Ringleted One's house. (I used to bake!) There's a stack of books by Langston Hughes, Richard Wright and other Harlem Renaissance writers sitting on my IKEA bookcase now. (I used to be interested in history!) And of course, there are a lots of memories of John: the dress and shoes I wore to his base's formal, the pictures of him at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the Dancing Hamster. (The Dancing Hamster, by the way, doesn't dance anymore. Which somehow is very fitting.)

Most of these things I had forgotten I owned, and it was with mixed feelings that I drew them out of containers. Some people look forward and go full tilt ahead, with little time wasted on sentiment for the past. I look back. I remember wistfully, I wonder what might have been. I mourn the disappearance of the person I used to be.

This blog is the record of how I changed since then. I started it shortly after I landed in Korea, five years ago, and I've been pretty faithful about keeping it updated with the minutia. I'm happy with the ways in which I've changed, and I'm still working on the things that I haven't changed and would like to. Change is good; we can't remain static and grow. But it's good to be reminded of where we started. Even if it's with some melancholy.

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