Greetings, friends. (XLIII)

Greetings, friends. This afternoon found us working deep in the stuff mines, and by stuff, I mean my Mom’s stuff, and by mines, I mean the eaves over the second floor of her house. Only the cellar surpasses this part of the house in its wretchedness, but nothing is stored down there, because even the sump pump can’t clear all of the standing water.

The bedroom I had been staying in, which was once Adah’s, contains the two doors that provide access to the crawl spaces under the eaves of the roof. We’d cleared out the downstairs bedroom, so I started by moving my mattress and bedding and clothing and all my other gear down there, because we needed room to work, and I didn’t want dust, fiberglass, and mouse droppings all over my sheets and pillows.

My move downstairs constitutes a definite phase change in our endeavors. I am no longer living out of the upstairs guest room. This is no longer my mother’s house.

Adah and I geared up for the ordeal. Long shirt and pants, shoe covers, $3 shower caps from Target, nitrile gloves, and N95 masks.

Most of what we found in the crawl spaces was, simply, garbage, either because the contents of the box were too important to throw away but not important enough to store elsewhere, or else because the box had been used for a mouse nest. Not infrequently it was both. We did find a small collection of things we decided to keep, including a box of family photos, and some other keepsakes and novelties I will document later.

One of the last things I laid hands on, as we were tidying up, was a plastic bag containing a decent assortment of Fisher Price “Little People” toys, many of which had been mine as a toddler, and then were inherited by Adah when she was a toddler. Because of course she did, because these things are indestructible. They made to stand up to two year olds, and they will therefore last forever.

I always said that NASA should’ve contracted Fisher Price to build the Space Shuttle.

Of course, I am so old that a few of my original figurines were actually part plastic and part wood. I dug around further, and, at the bottom of the bag, I found what I was looking for — a small “child” figurine with a barrel-like body rendered in durable ABS plastic in a very loud, very neon shade of orange.

When I was a young child and played with these toys, I think I quite naturally dabbled in re-enacting ordinary scenes of family life, although my father might recollect it differently. I don’t know what exactly kids are supposed to do when their toy box also contains a Fisher Price Little People police car and a Little People ambulance.

Anyway, these scenes invariably starred the people I knew, which were not many, and each person in my life had their own figurine. This orange child figurine was me. I think I cast the orange figurine as myself because neon orange was my favorite color. Or maybe it was my favorite color because of this figurine.

I liked neon orange so much that my mother once knit me an acrylic wool sweater in the same color. We also found that sweater yesterday. I’m keeping it, even though it will never fit me again.

The entire remaining crew of “Little People” characters representing my extended family and friends were all in there, just like I remembered them, except one: The cheerful brunette adult figurine in the yellow outfit who had, to me as a child, most closely resembled my mother.

That one, we found in her own childhood jewelry box.

If you’re reading this, and your mother (or mother figure, or mother figurine) is available, drop her a line and let her know you’re thinking of her, while you still can. I send you both my love. More tomorrow. G’night!