Tim O'Brien

...wrote an amazing chapter in an amazing book called "The Things They Carried." It's about the objects the men took into the fields of Vietnam with them. The things that kept home close. Things that brought solace.

I have a fine affinity for the objects around me. I am not sure if they bring me comfort. Or security. I am not certain if they are talisman. Icons. Touchstones. All I know is that I feel safe in the company of my beautiful things.

Today I took a tour through the museum of my house. Moved a small jar of marbles. Placed a lime green bowl next to a sea green bowl. I held a white beach stone, one that has a miracle dot in the middle. I hung up new art. I rethought the hallway to the bathroom. I found a spot for new balloon seed pods. Then placed a piece of glass in the western window so that I could watch the sunset through it. I made sure that every room had a ceramic ball in some corner. I put a shine on all the flat surfaces.

Everywhere I look there is something that can lift me. Put me back in my best self. Make my eyes happy.

Then I headed upstairs into the dry attic and started to haul bags and bags of junk out of there. I am sure, at some time, each object meant something to me or my mom or my grandmother. No doubt, there was a summer that I needed an oscillating tower fan. And I am sure that the van Gogh print I bought in DC hung in an important spot of another house, when I was a different person. For some reason, I have 8 sets of queen sheets. Some with flowers on them. And, perhaps, I wanted a red elephant, and 600 colored Christmas lights. I even found a map of Tennessee from 1983. Old standing lamps, a mixed-taped recorder, a thirteen inch TV, a brand new bird cage, a brass curtain rod seven feet long.

They all hit the tree lawn with a happy plunk.

Then I went one step further. Threw away things that used to mean a lot to me. A pillow Carrie made me on our sixth anniversary. A magnetic board where we used to post poems to each other. A bag of clear quartz.

I did not even hesitate. I did not stop to think, nor revisit a time or place that is not now. I do not need Carrie anymore. I do not need to carry the things Carrie gave me. The war is over. I am coming home from the paddy field. I am finally coming all the way home.