home

I have beside my bedside a greyish- purple metal clock.  The circularly square clock has a round clock face with numbers that perhaps were once considered a modern script.  It doesn’t tick, and it doesn’t tock and yet it always tells me the time of 12:24. Silently it stands in a place fitting for its purpose, but the purple clock, once a member of my great grand-fathers clock collection, is quiet.  This timepiece has all the mechanisms in it to click time away.  A simple twist of the screw with the instruction “wind” underneath it and the thaw of time would rapidly commence.  But I’m ok with it being still.  

Beside our green couch stands, almost defiantly, an obnoxious lamp.    This was my first real purchase with my first real pay check.    For whatever reason this lamp caught my eye, perhaps it was the abundance of colors that vertical create a rainbow-like effect around the shade or maybe it was simply because it was on sale.    Regardless that lamp has become invaluable to me because of its origin.  Like the clock that doesn’t tick this lamp doesn’t turn off.   At one time it had a chain that could instantly create or vanquish light.  Sometime ago now, it was pulled in just the right way to release that chain from its duties indefinitely.  Now to turn the lovely lamp on or off, one must get down on all fours and plug it into the wall.   

I have carefully hung pictures with those sticky-wall-mounting-things that don’t require a hole. They dot my bedroom walls.   These pictures, displayed in Walmart’s five dollar frames somehow satisfy my thirst for art.   This collection acquired over the years is complete with samples of my own attempts at photography, autographs, pictures from a magazine and a black and white photo of my favorite classic Hollywood comedian sporting country wear.   These images are each special in their own and reflect a unique story that is an anecdote to mine.  


I have things like these scattered throughout my little white house that offer the white walls color and character, at least to my eyes.   These things that have been collected over my vast 25 years can be categorized into pieces that tell a story and trinkets that I’ve carried with me just to remind me of home and important people.