We live in a small apartment, and therefore do not have a lot of storage space. Our closet, on the other hand, is a very large space. The only problem is that it is very large depthwise, and not lengthwise, so it is hard to get to anything that is in the back. When we first moved in we purchased a rolling clothes hanger thing to roll under the clothes rod. It promptly broke (under the tremendous weight of Elin’s clothes, perhaps?), and we have been dealing with it ever since. Well, last week, I bought a new thing to hang clothes on, and Elin took advantage of the transition to get rid of many tops that she doesn’t use anymore. And there were a lot. Elin is not much of a clothes-shopper, but she does manage to accumulate. Anyway, I took it all to DI on Saturday, and then felt inspired to create some space by getting rid of some of my clothes. And an interesting thing happened: I didn’t want to get rid of them. As I looked at them, I realized they all represented in some way significant times of my life. So, dear reader, I am going to privilege you with some memories from my life, represented by sundry items of clothes.
1. CTR/Superman shirt. I’m pretty sure this shirt was a birthday present my sophomore year, although possibly my junior year. I really liked this shirt, and wore it quite a bit to start with. I have two high school memories of this shirt. One year on Halloween I wore it under a button down shirt; replacing my contacts with my glasses completed the Clark Kent costume. Whenever anyone complained that I hadn’t dressed up, I simply unbuttoned my shirt a little. The other memory associated with this shirt is seeing the Superman symbol with the letters “CTW” taped to various lockers. An outcry against me I guess.
2. Red Tommy Hilfiger polo shirt. I love this shirt. A lot. The only reason I am getting rid of it is because there are large holes under the edge of the sleeve. I bought it at TJ Maxx as I headed into my junior year of high school. This shirt constitutes 33.3% of the worthwhile items that I have found at TJ Maxx throughout my entire life. The shirt represents a time in my life when looking good and fashionable was of the utmost importance. I distinctly remember wearing it to school for the first time, tucked in. I was openly mocked by one Corey Cozzens. I guess it was a little too preppy for
3. BYU-Idaho shirt. This shirt only recalls fond memories. While I never attended school at BYU of the I, I have been to Rexburg several times and to campus once or twice, and on one of those visits, I got this shirt. My senior year of high school my good buddies Jory Woodis, Nick Sponsel, and I went on a road trip. First we went to
4. Quicksilver Polo shirts. These shirts were purchased in
5. Close-up of the Superman/CTR shirt. See those little holes on the left? Those are burn marks from the summer after my freshman year of college, immediately preceding my departure for my mission. At this point I had already had this shirt for a couple of years, which is why it had become a work shirt. I also had met and dated my wife-to-be. I was working for Bishop Blackburn, as a metal cutter. The holes are from bits of molten metal that would occasionally splash on me, burning through my shirt and underclothes, and then burn me. I was working with Jory, Rachell, Justin Harper, and Jeff Minchow. It was delightful.
I am sorry that this blog is so long, and probably boring. It is interesting how things that are important to one are not important to another. I wonder if authors simply write to entertain themselves, and then luck into other people liking the same things they do. To sum up my feelings, I am going to use a quote from a book that Elin introduced me to, that I have never read. It is from a book called “The Pit,” by Frank Norris, and is about a girl who just married. While I am neither a girl, just married, nor as attached to these shirts as she is to her things, it still works:
“Alone she ran up the stairs, and gained the second story; then paused a moment on the landing to get her breath and to listen. The rooms near by were quiet, deserted. From below she could hear the voices of the others--their laughter and gaiety. She turned about, and went from room to room, looking long into each; first Aunt Wess's bedroom, then Page's, then the "front sitting-room," then, lastly, her own room. It was still in the disorder caused by that eventful morning; many of the ornaments--her own cherished knick-knacks--were gone, packed and shipped to her new home the day before. Her writing-desk and bureau were bare. On the backs of chairs, and across the footboard of the bed, were the odds and ends of dress she was never to wear again.
For a long time Laura stood looking silently at the empty room. Here she had lived the happiest period of her life; not an object there, however small, that was not hallowed by association. Now she was leaving it forever. Now the new life, the Untried, was to begin. Forever the old days, the old life were gone. Girlhood was gone; the Laura Dearborn that only last night had pressed the pillows of that bed, where was she now? Where was the little black-haired girl of
And what was this new life to which she was going forth, under these leaden skies, under this warm mist of rain? The tears--at last--were in her eyes, and the sob in her throat, and she found herself, as she leaned an arm upon the lintel of the door, whispering:
"Good-by. Good-by. Good-by."
