Sunday, February 18, 2024
Sunday Reflection: Detritus as Treasure
Yesterday, someone I love butt-dialed me. I know he didn't call me on purpose, because the call resulted in a five-minute voicemail recorded from his pocket-- this fascinating snapshot into his day.
Yes, it did feature an extended bathroom sequence, which ended with the sound of a hand drier and a door opening, but there was so much more: snippets of people speaking in English until a woman says "en Espanol?" converting the conversation into Spanish; a bit of driving; something that sounds like packing things into a bag; a moment of quiet followed by a sigh. It was beautiful, and I am keeping it.
That's the kind of detritus worth cherishing- the things that fall off the side of these wonderful fellow travelers as they go along.
The picture above is from my parents' garage, where my dad sometimes worked and where he definitely kept a lot of his stuff. There is a mass of brushes, but most of them had been carefully cleaned. And there are the rags he always had nearby, splashed with the muted reds and blues he loved. There is a black t-shirt, part of his uniform, and in the front and back there are tangled extension cords (his constant companions). There is a phone and a remote and a measuring tape, and I suspect that only the measuring tape worked.
The focal center of it all is a flash of red, that bit of cloth. I have no idea what it is, but that fits, too-- there always was some mystery.
