Yes, my attention has drifted away from this blog, but I’ve been getting a few requests to resurrect it. As some downsizing is happening in my life, I may uncover a few oddities to blather on about. Or I may just get completely overwhelmed by the amount of stuff that I own. There’s a part of me that recognizes that attachment to things can be emotionally and spiritually detrimental. I’m working on that. Really. But dang, then I uncover something that is just too weird/sentimental/story-worthy/weird to part with.
Like my friend here:
For the first seven years of my life our family had a cottage a bit south of the one that later became my second home for the next 40 years. Spiritual home(s), really – both the first and second cottage. That first property was on low ground and would flood every spring. One day there was a lot of flotsam on our shore, among which was this piece of driftwood. My mother was about to pitch it back into the lake, but my grandmother stopped her and said, “Wait! It looks like Woody Woodpecker!” (For those not as old as I, Woody was a popular cartoon character of the day.)
So Grandma brought it inside, glued a bit of cork in an auspiciously placed knothole for an eye, shellacked the whole thing, and hung it on our wall.
Drift Woody came with us when we sold the cottage. It was later re-hung when we bought the second cottage. Now that cottage is being sold, and Drift Woody is coming with me. He will look completely out of place in a downtown Toronto condo. And for all I know, I may be the only person (after my late Grandma) who thinks it looks like Woody Woodpecker.