Little Things, Little Deaths

There's been a line from a young adult book running through my head the last few days. It's from Lois Duncan's Killing Mr. Griffin. I'll leave the YA uberblogging to Lizzie Skurnik's Fine Lines column over at Jezebel (the column from a few weeks ago about Flowers in the Attic? priceless) and simply quote it. It's written by a teen girl from the point of view of Ophelia addressing the stream:





"death with you is hardly more


than all the little deaths before"





Little deaths are not a crippling blow, just those small punches that take the heart and breath right out of you, temporarily. I had a little death recently and now I am left with the little things. Little things I made or found. Little things that show, despite my fears about being lacking in the abandon department, that I was at least thinking positive, hopefully. (Of course, finding and making those things were also a way of being together when the distance was great.) Things that, because of my fear and a hunch (now proven out) that the time was not right, were never given and now never will be.

Now, as I have said before, I'm a torch carrier from way back (I love the music of Ryan Adams and James McMurtry for just that reason) and if waiting were the issue I would do that, gladly, as this person is the defination of worth waiting for. But, I am a lot less in love with useless desire than I used to be and so find myself in the thankless position of having to decide what to do with these little things. They can't be returned, it seems like a sin to throw them away and they definately can't be saved for another person (talk about bad mojo!). What could be sadder than an unheard mix? Even more than an unsent letter there's something so forlorn about it. Maybe it's some sort of ceremony that's needed, to cleanse and such.

These considerations have become more important since my last trip home, since the anvil. When attempting to get the attention of a person who speaks fluent cartoon (as any Road Runner fan can attest) an anvil is needed, and in perhaps my most fortuitous thrift find ever I actually found a tiny one. In my upset, when I was disappointed by the conversation, I threw it away which I am now regretting cause, well, life is long and you just never know when you might need one.

Morale of the story? Even if you're disappointed, KEEP THE ANVIL.