Monday, April 04, 2005

Archaeology 

Or, things rediscovered while packing my stuff from grandma’s house since she's moving for the 20th time in her life:

>> A children’s book called “The little shepherd of kingdom come”, published 107 years ago in Toronto. It has a copperplate inscription that states the owner’s name and the date: 1901. I don’t think I’ve ever read it. It’s a trait I’ve unwittingly picked up from my grandfather, who also has an eclectic (eccentric) collection of unread or semi-read second-hand books on everything from “Political astrology” (!!) to “Anatomy and physiology for the first-year nurse”.

>> A ream of photocopies of Chris Freeman’s compositions for guitar in tab. He was my dad’s godbrother, a gifted guitarist and composer, who died in his twenties from an asthma attack because he had no Ventolin on hand.

>> Letters and cards from friends, including the plane letter Chris gave me for my exchange trip in 2001. It contains a wordfind that has a phrase you’re meant to decipher after you find all the words. I only found it now, I think it’s something like “Buy Chris lots of good presents”. How touching, dear.

>> Innumerable origami frogs made from Metro tickets.

>> My study diary from Year 12. It was for timetabling and such, but I found a passage copied and translated from my French grammar book which I had found poetic. This is the same book that has manic scribbling on the back page and some rather schizophrenic, fractured navel-gazing angsty monologues in the middle in scratchy handwriting. I swear I should’ve been allowed psychiatric special consideration in the VCE.

>> Various other diaries, one of which contained a story in French in bright orange ink.

>>Our Europe photo album which includes a shot in the Vatican with a shot of the Pope's pixellated face on a screen and the pontiff himself as a tiny tiny dot in the distance. RIP, JPII.

>> Books from my childhood including a picture book about the Long March in China. Communist propaganda infiltrating my innocent mind.

>> A package from my Italian pen-friend Cristina. It was a set of fake ads and parody songs for her friend’s birthday, all featuring an imaginary character called Alejandro, a Spanish stud. She’d translated the entire lot into English for me. Apparently “to sweep” is a dirty pun in Italian.

>> Piles and piles of unread newletters and unfilled permission forms. Heh. I must have drafted dozens of replacement forms. Foreshadowing a brilliant career in Contracts, naturally.

>> A copy of the “Man from La Mancha” program, complete with Anthony Warlow’s signature. I remember waiting for aaaagges at the stage door trying to look cool, then being shit-scared when Mr Quixote walked out and mum having to get the autograph for me. His car was impressive and he was very obliging and kind. Note to self: see him in April 13th show. Edit: agggh tickets are minimum $88! Wonder if anyone will bootleg an opera show for me?

# posted at 12:24 am

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