Frozen Dragonfly

Heavy mist hung over hills and filled the valley this morning, lowering the temperature and the visibility considerably. We decided to walk down into the spot we once called 'the field' but now call 'the project' because thirty five houses are in various stages of completion on the open hills where Ozzie liked to romp. There is still a narrow band of open space with a path that zig-zags down the hill. The mist narrows the vision and coats many things with a jewel-like droplets. I thought this desiccated dragonfly looked just like an elegant jeweled pin. Do women wear pins anymore? Do they wear jackets anymore?

Since the fires, many people have been rethinking their relationship with their stuff. Some people sift through the ashes looking for any remnant of the life they left behind when their homes burned to the ground. Others can't even bring themselves to go back to the site from which they fled ahead of the flames. Many of us who didn't lose our homes were still forced to contemplate our relationship with our stuff when we had to evacuate. We weren't forced to grab our pets and run from the flames in our nightclothes, but we still had to make a decision about what to take out of a house we might never see again.

Three months have elapsed since that morning and I think many of us are still re-evaluating our relationship with our stuff. Both OilMan and I are feeling the need to purge our closets and our rooms, but for very different reasons. I don't think my stuff means anything unless there are memories associated with it. Without memories, stuff is just clutter.

 First one has to rethink these memories...are they just 'habitual' memories, or do I still value the connection?
Also some 'stuff' is what makes a house a home. I was trying to explain this to OilMan, who hates all the decorative pillows on our couch and on our bed, saying that without them our rooms would look like warehouses. He didn't get it. He thinks 'stuff' should have at least two practical reasons for its existence. He still his father's old tools...a combination of memories and practicality.

I couldn't help thinking that if I lost my entire collection of jewelry, I would still be able to find jewels like this dragonfly. Everything is ephemeral.