My Rose Colored Glasses
Save the world, or at least some small part of it. That’s what I do. In addition to memories and photographs, I save things. Many are from the far left side of my developmental timeline. They remind me of where I’m from, and allow me a look back whenever I drift too far away.
I think it’d be hard to live a full life without having an attachment to some objects from the past. My things allow me to slow a bit and recall times when I had fewer responsibilities, deadlines, and folders that have folders inside even more of them. I mean – who needs all this baggage atmo?
It shouldn’t surprise that, just as with striped ties, ripped jeans, and bicycle routes, I have my favorites. These are the items that connect me to, well – to me. Among the most precious of my treasures are my rose colored glasses.
They came from my home in Bayonne where, as a child, I drank from them daily. No matter how much time passes, or what else happened since my first sip, few bonds I’ve formed are as strong as the ones I have with these. I don’t know why that is, and care even less. But having them with me so many decades on makes me happy.
I was attached to these glasses even as a youngster. I knew that someday I’d leave, and they’d stay in the cupboard above and to the left of the sink. When I’d come back to visit, I’d smile inside upon seeing all six still intact, as if my safe haven was there waiting for me.
The house was sold some ten years ago, and I dutifully helped my mom take inventory and decide what to bring forward and what to leave behind. We’ll all do that sooner or later. We both had to make choices, for I still had years’ worth of stuff in the rooms I kept as a child. But all I really wanted was the juice glasses.
I still have my baggage. The best of it reminds me of when everything seemed easier. Perhaps there’s some latent Leave It To Beaver era pathology at work. Remember how Mrs. Cleaver’s presence made everything feel right? That’s how it is when I open the cupboard and see these.