...be someday she's got nothing on but Radio Ga Ga. After playing records in April, I regressed further back into my childhood in May. The fine weather warmed up the attic – it has no insulation and was bitter cold in winter when I moved in, so a bunch of stuff was just dumped there – and I started cleaning up, with the intention of cleaning out, i.e. throwing away. Since the way to hell is paved with good intentions, nothing went into the bin.
On the contrary, finding the few items I have left from my childhood, I remembered many of the things that weren't there anymore. Some got lost in one of the 13 moves, others had to be sold because money was needed. Which is fine, mostly. However, I really missed a couple of objects, so I went on ebay. Surely, you all know how that goes …
Yesterday a parcel from the U.S. arrived. Almost forgot about it, after so many weeks. Mind, I would've checked the tracking number at some point, but this way was so much more beautiful. First I was surprised, had no clue what was inside, even thought it might be some model train for my dad (in that respect he's never been anything but a big child, his house is full of model trains he bought on ebay), as the postman had written my dad's over my crossed out name. My parents live across the street now, my name is on their letter box and vice versa, to make sure we get our deliveries and don't have to travel down to the post office just because someone wasn't home. A bit confusing, I guess.
Anyway, my mum had put the parcel on my desk, so I decided to open it. And squealed with joy. Inside were three care bears from the early eighties in great condition! Man, was I happy. My dogs didn't understand what the fuzz was about, but they were happy as well. For a change, I didn't cuddle them. Usually they're all for cuddling, but what with the heat and all that fur – they were grateful I had found something plush to squeeze. Today they were rewarded with a good shearing, to make temperatures above 20 degrees more bearable.
The care bears have found their place in a big show case among other memorabilia.
You're welcome to think I'm retarded, but before you plan to rob me of my care bears or my stereo, keep in mind I have three dogs who do not take kindly to strangers entering their home. Also, I'm a lot crazy and split my fire wood with an axe. Yes, I'm also aware I'm being paranoid and it is unlikely anyone would want to steal old stuff. There is a reason I call the cellar Edgar. Edgar dates back to the seventeenth century. Other parts of the house as well. Restoring an unstable wall made of straw and clay, I found a vertebra and other bones. I really love this ancient wreck of a half-timbered house with its crooked walls and uneven floors and intend for it to be my final home.
13 moves is enough. Despite being very Americanized when it comes to a fascination with serial killers, preferring the DSM over the ICD and slurping strawberry-and-cream shakes, I hate moving. I love giant cars and motor homes, but in Europe that lifestyle is impossible, which means I never moved with my home on a truck, but from one still strange place to yet another. Let's just say I never want to lose my care bears again, as I obviously also lost a lot of marbles. Speaking of which – I only found nine of them. I am certain I used to have more than 50 …
On the contrary, finding the few items I have left from my childhood, I remembered many of the things that weren't there anymore. Some got lost in one of the 13 moves, others had to be sold because money was needed. Which is fine, mostly. However, I really missed a couple of objects, so I went on ebay. Surely, you all know how that goes …
Yesterday a parcel from the U.S. arrived. Almost forgot about it, after so many weeks. Mind, I would've checked the tracking number at some point, but this way was so much more beautiful. First I was surprised, had no clue what was inside, even thought it might be some model train for my dad (in that respect he's never been anything but a big child, his house is full of model trains he bought on ebay), as the postman had written my dad's over my crossed out name. My parents live across the street now, my name is on their letter box and vice versa, to make sure we get our deliveries and don't have to travel down to the post office just because someone wasn't home. A bit confusing, I guess.
Anyway, my mum had put the parcel on my desk, so I decided to open it. And squealed with joy. Inside were three care bears from the early eighties in great condition! Man, was I happy. My dogs didn't understand what the fuzz was about, but they were happy as well. For a change, I didn't cuddle them. Usually they're all for cuddling, but what with the heat and all that fur – they were grateful I had found something plush to squeeze. Today they were rewarded with a good shearing, to make temperatures above 20 degrees more bearable.
The care bears have found their place in a big show case among other memorabilia.
You're welcome to think I'm retarded, but before you plan to rob me of my care bears or my stereo, keep in mind I have three dogs who do not take kindly to strangers entering their home. Also, I'm a lot crazy and split my fire wood with an axe. Yes, I'm also aware I'm being paranoid and it is unlikely anyone would want to steal old stuff. There is a reason I call the cellar Edgar. Edgar dates back to the seventeenth century. Other parts of the house as well. Restoring an unstable wall made of straw and clay, I found a vertebra and other bones. I really love this ancient wreck of a half-timbered house with its crooked walls and uneven floors and intend for it to be my final home.
13 moves is enough. Despite being very Americanized when it comes to a fascination with serial killers, preferring the DSM over the ICD and slurping strawberry-and-cream shakes, I hate moving. I love giant cars and motor homes, but in Europe that lifestyle is impossible, which means I never moved with my home on a truck, but from one still strange place to yet another. Let's just say I never want to lose my care bears again, as I obviously also lost a lot of marbles. Speaking of which – I only found nine of them. I am certain I used to have more than 50 …
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