Who Needs Kodak When You've Got Driftwood

I cleaned my house today. Ok, that's not true...I cleaned one very tiny corner of it, The Kitchen Table.

Every house has a junk drawer; mine is The Kitchen Table. Mail goes on it, pens gather there, and traces of the last few meals eaten remain there like an historic trail. Once in awhile, an actual person sits down at The Kitchen Table, but not very often.

But I had two months worth of bills to pay and Jody made me pay them and the end result was an urgent need to clean The Kitchen Table. Why? How the hell should I know.

I worked my way from top to bottom, moving through layers of bills to get to sales receipts, store catalogs and celeb magazines that I have no recollection of buying; I gathered up all the Free Panty cards from VS and stuffed them in my wallet; I put all the pens back in the pen jar; I moved the wedding pictures to the coffee table.

Finally, I arrived at the crumb-and-dust layer. A sweep of my hand across the surface of the table and I was done! Cleaning up isn't such a hard thing, really, it's more a case of just being able to figure out where else to put something than it's current location.

The only thing I really couldn't find a better place for was the small bag of driftwood pieces I'd collected from our summer vacation, a.k.a. The Road Trip. Each small piece looked so beautiful lying on the beach; each shape twisted into something I thought was unique that day. In the bag on The Kitchen Table, they look...well, less.

To be honest, I wish I hadn't taken them. Not because I don't think I will ever get around to making that windchime I planned, and not because they aren't beautiful still. I wish I hadn't taken them because they are such a teeny part of that day, without backdrop - the sound of the waves, and the powder-fine sand and Jody sitting next to me as we burned our faces and froze the rest of us. And while they are unique and beautiful to look at, they aren't as beautiful as The Whole Picture.

Yet, at the same time, I'm GLAD I brought them home - they inadvertently exercise my mind. I hold them and admire them while absentmindedly searching for that day in my memory until my eyes drift half shut and I see that tiny piece of My Past again. I can feel the sun on my upturned face; I can hear the roar of the ocean; I can see my beautiful daughter sitting on a HUGE piece of driftwood, contentedly reading her book.

I put the pieces of memory back in the bag and set them back on The Kitchen Table. Turns out that is the perfect place for them after all.