Found Things

When I step into the heat of my garage, I can't help but let corners of my mouth pull into a smile. Maybe a smirk. I tell my wife that we need get everything out the the garage. And the basement. And the rooms. And the junk drawer. In short, we have too much junk. And, while that is true, there is an advantage to having boxes in the garage.

To understand this, it might help know about a few things I have at arms length as I sit at my desk. I have an English to German dictionary. It is from my college days. It brings back the work I had to do for what would be my toughest classes, but it is not nearly as useful as the information you can find on-line. I also have a 2nd edition Dungeon Master's Guide, which was my chief source of entertainment all through high school. I don't need it anymore, but it reminds me of weekends on Sill's floor with half a dozen or more of my friends weaving stories of dragons and vampires. The nostalgia on these things is a treasure, but I don't know what to do with the items themselves. I don't want to get rid of them, but I can't figure out how to make them useful.

The boxes in the garage fuel my mind with hopes of a new object a new dose of nostalgia. Additionally, you have the quest, the act of working toward a find. The one thing better than finding, is looking. I love the quest. Every box is a quest waiting to happen. Sometimes you get a dictionary or a roleplaying book, but most of the time you just get the quest.

The little quirk of mine has lead me to some interesting places, with some interesting finds. The most interesting for me, my favorite quests are people finding. I do this for a hobby as often as I can. I love the research the moves, the court records, every clue to narrow down where someone has made it to. If a book is laced with nostalgia, that a person is like the straight shot. They can fill in all the gaps, they can talk about the things they remember. It is almost perfect.

I have loved the searches for people lost in the fog of time. It's like I have recovered a little bit of myself. From the girl who lived across the street in elementary school, to the high school friend who got lost after a rough couple years. When you get them, you want to hold on, want to pick up where you left off, you want the joy you remember.

It never works exactly that way, though. At some point you realize the person looking, isn't the person who lost them. I didn't stop changing when circumstances took them out of my life. They aren't they same people either. The taste is bittersweet.

What to do then? What do you do once you have found this person you have spent days or weeks looking for? Now you sit staring at an e-mail written by a stranger, to a stranger with only old history binding them together. The desire for something, but the realization that it is too far gone puts a lump in my throat.

It may be foolish, but I like being able to reach over and touch the books I have no use for anymore. I can flip through the pages and let the memories wash over me. That is enough.