50 things.

I dreamed last night about the taste of wild strawberries that we picked one year on South Manitou Island.  Worthy of their own cross-island expedition, they were tiny but concentrated and as sweet and strawberry-y as I can imagine.  They were shockingly delicious, an entirely different experience from the store-bought giants I had been used to.  I woke up feeling sad and forlorn, but I didn't remember the dream, so I wasn't sure why I felt so bereft. 

Later in the day I went grocery shopping.  I spied a merry plastic bag containing dried strawberries and being sold for about five dollars, which I picked up and bought.  It wasn't until I was putting them away in a cabinet at home that I remembered my dream and realized why I had bought the overpriced strawberries.  It got me thinking about that day and that flavor.  We picked a long time and had barely half a jar to show by the time we got back to the cabin.  Those were the simplest, emptiest, fullest days.  Sweet days.

Okay, now everyone might think I'm really weird.  But I go through this mental exercise all the time, and it's related to that simple feeling I had as a kid.  I think, what if I had to get rid of all but a certain number of things...50? 20? 10? Which ones would they be?  Do we include essentials in the things, like clothing items and soap?  Or are those gimmes?  Does a tub of photos count as 1000 things or one thing?  Is a pair of shoes two things or one thing?  And my books...I'd have to only choose the ones whose actual bodies I loved; others I'd have to jettison and resolve to check out later if need be.  Am I in a survival situation?  Or do I have to go about my normal life?

Here are my 50 for normal life in no particular order.  Since it's normal life I'll give myself leeway in all of the grouping issues above, but I'm not allowed to just go out and buy a bunch of stuff.  I'll say this has to hold me for one year except food, drink, and other random expendables.  The rest has to go.

All purpose soap, toothbrush, towel, leatherman tool, wedding band, U.S. Navy spoon that was Pop-pop's special soup spoon, Mom's necklace, hiking boots, black Danskos, Blue Adidas running shoes, pink Keen sandals, Giraffe water bottle, Bible given by Richie, dolphin Pete carved for me, One backpack, one tote bag, phone (w charger), computer (w charger), driver's license (optional), hair twistie.  That's 20. Tee shirt, long sleeve button-down, two pairs of socks, good jacket, thermal underwear set.  One work dress and one fancy dress.  Running shorts.  My white coat.  Watch.  Strong small flashlight.  Stethoscope.  Small bag of unmentionables.  That tub of photos in all forms: digital, negative, prints.  Now I'm up to 34 or thousands depending on how you look at it.

Just 16 more...and I could quibble about these a great deal.  We're planning for normal life?  Large bowl, glass Atlas Jar.  Boonie hat bought by Pop-pop.  Favorite flowers Richie drew for me.  A certain bridesmaid's gift.  (Gigi, Flau-flau, and Blue blue would be on this list, but they're on M and V's). Bike (with rack).  A coin I'm sentimental about, another button-down shirt, a skirt, another work dress, pillow, sleeping bag, cooking pot, new number two pencil, pen.  Good Poems edited by Garrison Keillor, given to me by Richie.

Wow, this list would be very different if it were a survival situation.  Or if I could buy other stuff.  But what if this was all I had?  How much more could I remember the taste of wild strawberries on South Manitou Island?  How much more time could I spend looking into my family's eyes when they speak to me?  How much more skilled would I become at mending, for instance? 

If there is one interferes disproportionately with the memory of the taste of wild strawberries, it's this computer that I am interacting with now.

What are your fifty?