Sandy Supposes....

My Must Haves

PROMPT November 1st

We all have possessions of some type. Tell us five possessions you can’t live without, and why they are on this list.

         

         

         

         

         

         This prompt has me 'acapellaing' to a couple of catchy songs and I find it difficult to compose my blog response with the screeching assaulting my ears. "Living in a material world" is echoing 'round me and sorry, Madonna, I am not doing your song justice. Strangely, the lyrics to The Sound of Music's My Favorite Things is burbling in the background of my synapses. too. Why am I mangling another tune when I should be writing? What do "round paper packages tied up with string" and" kittens / mittens" have to do with my thought process? Focus.

          I need to plan like the passengers of the SS Minnow did when they set forth on a three-hour cruise. What would I stuff into a duffle bag in the unforeseen chance I'd be stranded on an island? What items spoke to Lovey, aka Mrs. Howell and Ginger? What did Mary Ann think to pack?

         Of course, I am interpreting "you can't live without" as meaning life-altering, or survivalist. Hmmm, I am just realizing that I do not own a swiss army knife. Drat, I no longer have an old compass lying about collecting dust either. Now, I'm certain a few of the paper, folding-type maps are crammed into a drawer somewhere probably sharing space with a box of matches and a flashlight.

          But wait, I'm not really being asked to consider these things am I? "Live without" is simply a turn of phrase. What have I become attached to? What would I grab and clutch to my breast in the event of a fire?

         So, it's only five cherished and not necessarily indispensable possessions that are granted mention today. What are my must haves? What items would be missed if I no longer had them?

          I'm loathe to mention this possession only because it has wheedled and charmed its way into my life as if it has always been with me. For most of my life, I survived and carried on without this device. Accidents occurred. Calamity vexed me. Appointments were arranged without its influence. I could and did move about without a care, without anyone tracking those movements, or worrying about my whereabouts. I accepted I could not always communicate immediately with anyone. No one could reach out and instantly 'touch me.'

         I am speaking of my cellular device, my cellphone. Memories of my life B.C, before cellphone, are hazy, muted, almost ethereal. Did I really once sit within close proximity of a wall phone awaiting a call and threatening my younger siblings with grievous bodily harm if they even thought of eavesdropping? How could they be expected to not hear what I said? Oh, and that one phone was not mine alone. It had to be shared with the family. Long distance calls were not an everyday indulgence. If, gasp, I dialed a number and the other party did not answer for whatever reason, I was forced to try again later. No one I knew had an answering machine, or a secretary.

         Yep, my cellphone has become an integral part of my life. Chats occur anywhere at any time. With the marvelous advent of bluetooth and hands'-free technology I can talk while driving, or hiking, or shopping. I am not at the mercy of a tethered phone.

         Most of my chat mates also choose to carry phones with them. Not many people still use landlines. We also communicate via texts, e-mails, instant messages and shared photos. All of my contacts are stored safely. If absolutely necessary, I can leave a message.

         I do not store music, or games on my cellphone, but I do admit to toting a sizeable photo library in the palm of my hand. I enjoy the ease of snapping a new pic whenever the whim tickles me. After all, I must strive to attain my honourary title of Nannarazzi.

         Could I live without my cellphone? Sure, I could, I guess, if I had to, but thankfully I don't need to make that sacrifice. Campfires would never be the same if one of us could not consult Siri, or Google with one of our earth-shattering queries.

         With the tiny, but powerful computer I stuff into a pocket, I always have instant access to my writing files. If I so choose, that device can become an electronic notebook, too.

         I've lived long enough to utilize the Jetson technology of a face-to-face long distance conversation. Nothing brings a smile to my face quite like Facetime with my youngest grandgiggle , Alexandra. A two-year old appreciates the facial expressions that accompany the verbal exchange. Viewing the brightly coloured bandages she applies to her body just because she can is much more amusing than being told about it.

         Another possession I cannot imagine living without is a black and white photo collage my baby sister gifted to me the first Mother's Day after our Mom's demise. These pics are priceless and irreplaceable because they are from a pre-digital era. They are not saved on an unseen computer cloud waiting to be retrieved. Mom grew up in a time when photos were not shot at the drop of a hat. Every moment of her life is not memorialized, but the handful of photos we have depict her at varying ages. This reminds me my mother was not always a parent. She had a tangible past.

         What else? I admit to supporting a considerable addiction to books. In an ideal world all of them would accompany me on my travels, but I do comprehend the enormous juggling this would entail. One book in particular could best be described as sentimental. Reflections On a Gift Of Watermelon Pickle and other modern verse contains a collection of poetry that whetted my writing appetite. A Grade Six teacher gifted it to me with a heartfelt, encouraging inscription. "Congratulations on an outstanding year. I only hope that you will enjoy the poems in this book as much as I have enjoyed your creative stories and poems during the year." That nod from an adult not related to me is priceless. Someone believed in me when I was twelve. This tome has earned a place of honour on a book shelf and I never fail to find it tucked in amongst the others. One poem in particular has stayed with me, easily memorized. Four Little Foxes describes the struggle of newborn orphaned foxes to survive. Nature is beautiful, relentless, and cruel.

         Tucked into a small wooden chest are two silver charm bracelets. One belonged to my mother and one belonged to my mother-in-law. Each of the charms represents a special moment in their lives. Some were accepted as gifts, tokens of love. A few charms were purchased as souvenirs to remember specific adventures. Several commemorated special events such as marriages and births. This jewellery represents two strong, unforgettable women in my life. They were born an ocean apart, but their lives were not dissimilar.

         My fifth possession of merit is actually a bundle, a bundle of letters my Nanny mailed to me as I carried on years of correspondence with her as my number one penpal. In those bits of paper, I shared what was happening in my life. I mentioned my family. I wrote about school. I bounced ideas for stories off of her. In return, Nanny shared with me. I printed on whatever scraps of paper I could find. She responded in her elegant cursive handwriting on actual note paper. Not once did she chastise my scrawl, or belittle my flights of fancy. Questions were raised and answered. We continued this until I moved to her village when I was a young mother myself. There's nothing quite like the thrill of receiving a letter in the post addressed to yourself. Nanny acted as one of my first readers. Ah, great memories.

         Five possessions of infinite value to me, four of them incomparable.