the world won't last. What are You? What am I?

    This is the newest in a recurring series called The Interview Game, the first of which was conducted by Michael and posted here, and the most recent of which was conducted by The Onion and posted here. These questions were posed by my mysterious friend Elliott.     

    Questions are always welcome, to appear in future posts. Add in the comments or send them directly to me by private message.

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1. You inherit a perfectly ordinary house from a mysterious relative. In the attic, you discover one locked trunk. Inside can be anything except money. What do you hope is in it, and why? 

    a novel, handwritten, never published. Preferably hand-illustrated as well. To be able to read something that is essentially secret until that moment would be amazing. Even if it's not the best work ever written, it would be an honor and a gift. 

 

2. You've written before about films, books, objects, places, and even rooms that seem to gather emotional weight over time. What's something you own that has become far more important to you than it had any right to be when you first acquired it? 

    putting aside the obvious things like letters from friends who've died... the first thing that comes to mind is my wedding ring. I've long since traded away the engagement ring (for the diamond earrings I'm wearing right this moment, in fact). The wedding band, I had made smaller so it fits my pinkie, and also had the inscription buffed out. I wear it on a chain with some other charms. The ring seems to stand for affection and loyalty, and the idea that I was once the kind of person who could be so loving, and so loved. 

 

3. You have one free day, no obligations, no errands, no guilt, and a modest amount of spending money. What does the day actually look like from waking up to going to bed? 

    sleep, eat, read, sleep, eat, movies, sleep. My desires are simple.

    If it had to involve going out, I'd wander the downtown bookstore near the financial company where I used to work, then get red beans & rice from the BBQ place. I'd come home, eat spicy food, and read - probably poetry. 

 

4. What's a belief or assumption you held at twenty that you now find charming, misguided, incomplete, or surprisingly correct?

    charming: love wins in the end

    misguided: "I deserve it" is sufficient reason for whatever indulgence appeals at the moment

    incomplete: any phrase starting education is..., education will..., or education justifies...

    surprisingly correct: living away, at least for a while, is the right thing for me to do 

 
5. Suppose a friend who knows you very well is asked to describe you in one paragraph. What's the thing you hope they mention, and what's the thing you suspect they'd mention instead?

    I would hope they would mention sometimes-surprising thoughtfulness, e.g. well-chosen cards. I would suspect they would mention organization or detail (which I consider a thing that I do, but not necessarily a thing that I am).

 

6. What's the most beautiful thing you've ever bought for a completely impractical reason?

    this photo print ("Couples, Princes Street Gardens, Edinburgh (1966)") by Robert Blomfield, upon which I splurged—big time—and that I never, ever regretted. It hangs in my bedroom (now with a tiny watering can and an even tinier glass cat perched on the frame) and always, always brings me peace and joy to see. (Read this post for more on the subject.) Owning something purely for the feelings it gives to look at it is highly impractical, but by no means irrational. 

 

7. What subject could someone accidentally get you talking about for three hours?

    houseplant care

8. What's something you've become better at letting go of?

   tangible evidence of affection. Sometimes it's better to appreciate a memory as a memory and not by way of a thing.

 

9. Which movie scene would you most like to step into and inhabit for one hour?

    the ending scene of This is Not What I Expected (2017). Quiet sunset,
congenial company. Possibility. 

10. If future historians were reconstructing your life from the contents of your home, what conclusion would they get spectacularly wrong?

    it seems like my eBay inventory might give the idea that I'm a scholar, a tech geek, and maybe a machinist. And that I wear an extremely strange array of clothing and shoes.

[the title quotation is by Yunus Emre, from The Drop That Became the Sea: Lyric Poems]