JoeyMoggie

Visiting with my family over the weekend the topic of the ’storage boxes’ came up.

Before I got married I boxed up my life into 8 Rubbermaid containers and stuck them in the garage.   I was moving across the ocean, and knew I WANTED to keep the stuff inside the boxes, but didn’t want to travel that far with the contents.

A few years past, and when we came to visit the running joke was my parents threatened to throw away the boxes.   I would get all in a tizzy about it, saying that my whole life was in those boxes.  I was already sensitive about it, as they had converted my room to a computer room which they now lovingly call “the middle room”.

It was very clear that I didn’t live there anymore.

When we moved back to Montreal and we lived in our small downtown apartment, we simply didn’t have the space to accomadate my boxed childhood.

Since buying our house my parents have been insistant and almost forceful about me taking the boxes.  I’ve hestitated.   Perhaps I’ve been trying to keep a bit of at my family home, I’m not sure.

With heavy heart, and perhaps a little joyful excitement I took two of my Rubbermaid containers back with us to Montreal.

Last night I opened them up to reveal their contents.

I ended up with the boxes that contained some of my books, my diaries, photo albums and boxes of photos.  My collection of un-opened McDonald’s beany babies and the vintage Barbie clothes I had collected.

I found the wooden box I had made in shop classes in Grade 7, filled with nic-naks from my dating relationship with Colin.

There was also a large plastic envelope with ever letter, note, card and correspondence Colin sent me in highschool.

I opened up the envelope and peered inside at the worn and yellowing lined papers with the beautiful, romantic and slightly awkward words he said to me all that time ago.

I kept every little drawing, table napkin & gum wrapper.

I truly loved Colin, and finding all these things makes me see how much I love him still. I don’t believe I tell him or show him that near enough now. . . . .

I’m looking forward to our next trip home, so I can get a few more of my Rubbermaid containers.  These memories have been making me very happy.

May is Matt’s birthday.

Matt was my first ‘boyfriend’, my first ‘real love’. In fact, there is still a teeny tiny bit of my heart, way in the back, which loves him still.

I remember the horrible childish circumstances to which our ‘relationship’ started. My best friend at the time Katie and I made a contest. Who could kiss Matt first.

Although I was pleased I ‘won’ the contest, I failed to tell Katie that I actually had a crush on Matt. Later on, I would find out she did too.

It was the summer before we started high school. We were about 13, and awkward. Matt had floppy blond hair, parted in the middle. He was tall and slender and very toned. He had friendly blue eyes and a wonderful warm smile complete with metal braces. That was Matt’s geeky phase. Sweaters, khaki pants, running shoes with the laces untied. He was strikingly handsome. Even in his geeky phase.

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 Its been almost two years since we sold the beloved ugly avacado puke green leather button back couch.   I have an odd sense of mourning about it.

Before I was married, and Colin lived with a few chaps in a rented house in Chertsey (Surrey, in the United Kingdom) .  In order to furnish their place they gladly accepted ‘handouts’ when ever they could.

This couch was one of said handouts.  It was given to them by a mutal work colleauge, who had quite an interesting genre he collected.  He collected all things ‘casino’ - which is really no small feat in rural England.  He had a garage full of one armed bandits, bar ware and lounge furniture.

This couch apparently spent its glory years in the lobby of some European casino, sadly we never found out which one.  What a glamourous life.

Scars of its past life of splendor were evident, to the worn drink rings on the arms, to the scuffing on the round ball feet.   The leather was worn the middle of each seat cushion, and the back of couch was yellowed from natural light aganist it.

After we got engaged and the guys went their seperate ways, Colin ‘inherited’ the ugly avacado puke green leather button back couch. For the time we lived in England it was the faithful heart of our living room.  It was the butt of many jokes, but Colin stayed true to his couch.  When the time came to move back to Canada Colin seriously contemplated the cost of bringing his free avacado puke green leather button back couch back to Canada to adorn our need abode.  Needless to say I wasn’t as keen on the idea.

Thankfully after several days of “Don’t worry Honey, we’ll find the couch a good home” He finally agreed to let me sell it on Ebay.

I put a reserve of 100 Pounds and a week for the auction.  We watched, and waited.  Many people “watched” the auction with us, but no bids.  The day the auction came to an end there was a frenzied bidding war on the ugly avacado puke green leather button back couch that Colin had got for free.  When the smoke cleared we were surprized to learn that we had got 500 pounds for the thing!   In fact, when I spoke to the chap who bought it on the phone he’d said he’d been looking for a couch just like it for ages, and was actually prepared to spend almost 1000 pounds to get it!

Its certainly true, people will buy anything on ebay.

Dear Ugly avacado puke green leather button back couch, 

I hope your life has been good, and your new owners cared for your as much as we Colin did.

Sincerely,

Colin and Joey 

 I went to the grocery store last night for some provisions.  I decided that I wanted English muffins with peanut butter and jam for breakfast today.

I smiled as I picked up a jar of Skppy Creamy peanut butter, it reminded me so fondly of my dad.

I remember saturday morning errands with my dad.  We’d start off with breakfast, Dad used to make this soggy french toast that we used to put our Skippy Peanut Butter on.   There was always a quarrel among my brother, sister and I when the seal of a new jar of Skippy was opened to reveal that covented trademark single peanut nested on top of the fresh mound of peanut butter in the jar.  Being the oldest I got to have first dibs more often than my siblings.

We’d pile into the car and make our first stop off at the dump to get rid of something that was taking space up at the house, then we’d be off to “Jackson’s Barn” a discount grocery store that always had the coolest candy.  From there we’d go to Mac’s Milk convienence store to pick up my Dad’s lottery ticket. For lunch we’d always go to McDonalds and get a happy meal.

I remember piling into the back of the Areostar minivan like it was just the other day.

This morning I toasted my English muffins, and sat at my kitchen table with anticipatation, I twisted the lid off my Skippy peanut butter, and to my shock there was no peanut.   I was so disapointed.

I bet if I phoned my Dad.  He would say to me he was sure there was still a jar from Jackson’s Barn cira 1988 still in the panty, and I could be his guest to have it.  My Dad rocks.

Thanksgiving.

I love (and miss) Thanksgiving. With my job, I don’t get the holiday Monday off (its not a US holiday apparently) Damn the phones.

My families will be sitting around a warm fire today, laughing, talking and enjoying each other’s company, eating turkey - while I sit alone in a stark, cold and eerily quite office building. . . . Damn the phones.

Tuesday is also my birthday, so no cake and birthday candles for me. No birthday hugs from my family and friends from back home.. . .Damn the phones.

Please remember me today on this most Turkey filled of days, and please give Thanks for. . . . . . me.

I’m admiting something I shouldn’t.  But I want to recount the experience.

 3 years ago Colin and I went to Amsterdam for the Dutch Masters Association (DMA) Paintball tournment. This tournament would see 2500 paintballers from all over the world decend on the Netherlands for the weekend of games.

Colin had already been to Amsterdam previously for the same tournament.  I’d never been and wanted to go.

Needless to say when travelling with a load of 16-18 year old boys (This was the Campaign 2K4 year) that when they weren’t playing paintball they were three very famous, imfamous and notorious streets. . . . .

My mantra on travelling. . . . when in Rome. . .  .

So, I figured what better place to try the local fares?  We went through the narrowed and cobbled streets and found.  We found a small cafe, with a green and white stripped awning, and tiny little bistro sets out the front.   The little cafe looked like something transplaned out Parisianne France.

I can’t smoke.  I attempted several time in high school to “be cool” but it just didn’t pan out, and needless to say my lack of knowledge in this department hindered this experiement.

After serveral failed attempted, and the racious laughter of my companions, I needed to be given a ‘blow back’ in order to feel any of the effects of the China White we had purchased.

I didn’t feel anything right away.  We stood up to leave, and to find out friends . . . .  It was now night.

3 or 4 steps out of the cafe the intoxicating fumes took their hold, and it hit hard.  I felt my knees go weak, and a brief sense of weighlessness that allowed me to float rather than fall.

We walked across the uneven cobbles, the neon lights flashing and the flourecent lights streaming down between the deep crevases of the stone road.  I was unsure if I should be steping down or steping up onto the cobbles. It was very unsettling.  I needed someone to hold me up.

The loud merriment of people became like a constant high decible white noise that irritated my ear drums.  The small crowds would peridocially stop to stare at oiled women with too much slap on their faces girating in small window.  A couple times I remember hearing people asking me if I was looking for speed, viagra or coke. . . .

Every where I looked I saw people I recognized, I was unable to put into context where I knew them from.  I remember pointing to each face I had seen before saying “I knoooooow you”

We found our way to the “Pink Elepant” and for some reason I remembered that a bunch of people we were traveling with went to see a show.  I got out my cell phone and tried to dial.  Unfortunatly against the advice I had been given I had not put the international calling code numbers before anyones mobile number, and I couldn’t get through.  I held my phone up to my ear and just yelled into it telling our friends we wouldn’t be joining them.

We found out way to the taxi cue and went back to the hotel.

Thankfully I didn’t feel any ill effects the next day.

The lesson I learned:  Don’t try any drugs, and if you do - be somewhere you know and where you can relax.  And I also learned that Amsterdam ROCKS!