the pen my father used to write my mother love letters in case their love got lost somewhere along the miles that separated them
a model sailboat I loved as a child
my mother's recipe for Nanaimo bars
a large goldfish who would jump out and land on the floor no matter what I did to screen or cover the bowl
my sense of privacy
many hours of bright sunshine, lost when I was working indoors
my social security card, lost for years, then I found it in the very last carton I unpacked after moving to my new home
a pearl ring — but then I found it in the pocket of my summer pajamas, six months later
the words to some of my favorite songs
the chance to begin the life I wish I'd had
my sense of sadness, hopelessness, invisibility
my idealism
a pair of mittens that my daughter gave me, the kind that folds back to expose your fingers when you need them to do that
the surface of my kitchen/mailbox table
a pair of silver candlesticks
a load of laundry that included my beloved Dan Fogelberg concert T-shirt
lipstick, pillows, keys, important documents
my childhood, lost much too soon
a lovely stuffed bear my daughter received from my sister on the day she was born — lost when she was 18 and we went to Boston to visit colleges; my daughter might have gotten over it by now but I never will
my confidence
my comfortable shoes
some weight
the love of my life, but then he returned and I was mistaken about "love of my life"
my original copy of Catcher in the Rye — twice
ten rings, one from each finger, in a single afternoon at a science museum in Berkeley — how does this happen?
photos from my trip to China, the photos and negatives foolishly stored in the same tote bag
a turquoise ring from long ago, which I recently found in an old jewelry box but then I lost it again when it flew off my finger (which is thinner than it was before)
a tricycle
my ability to eat corn on the cob
my innocence
my wallet, dozens of times, which might say something about my relationship to money
the notion that anything that happened in the past could be totally "re-done"
my Hello Kitty wallet, pink and plastic, last seen in the Pyramid Mall, 1993
my birth certificate, buried in a filing cabinet somewhere
my toothbrush, lost on an airplane
my journal
a bracelet that I used to wear all the time because it went with everything else I wore
many many cat toys
books that I lent to people but never got back
my car (but only for a short while)
my favorite peacock blue earring, but I saved the remaining one in case I ever lose an ear
money, in the stock market, years ago
my ambition
the illusion that I am capable of changing
the cap to my favorite water bottle
the belief that if I am a good person good things will always happen to me
my religion
the tape of love songs my husband compiled for me during our first time apart
my inability to be alone
my attachment to what I believed made me feel successful in life
resentments
muscle tone
eye glasses, sunglasses, umbrellas, LP records
the ability to play the piano decently, to sleep through the night, to wear high heels or even medium heels
my high school ring
connections with friends from school
my desire to filter
a pewter goddess necklace, lost at the Amtrak platform in Chicago
my stamina
my childhood home, lost to fire
power, respect, perspective
my way
my passport
my long beautiful Rapunzel hair
my all-time favorite denim cowboy shirt with pearly snap buttons, stolen from Rulloff's basement while I was cooking there
my figure (as the saying goes)
my moral compass, my gumption, my inhibitions
my balance, while in tree pose
one glove, over and over again
three favorite socks, each belonging to a different pair
the Scottish Black Watch Tam that I bought in Edinburgh in August, 1969
six blue quilted place mats that match the 10 blue napkins and 4 place mats I still have and use
my old address book, lost on my birthday; I crawled all around my studio apartment in NYC looking for it
the key to my office, never to be found again, I had to change the locks
the chance to be a ballerina, a rock star, or a tour operator
the grave sites of our family pets — Amaryllis, Fred, Penny, Penfold — because we had the back of the yard graded and tidied up
my peace of mind, my equilibrium, my breath, my footing, my train of thought
my self-consciousness
my memory, on more occasions than I wish
keys, hats, boots, pens, a Carhartt vest, clipboards, calves
my temper
a little green tractor
the trail
a pair of Telemark ski boots — I not only miss them but I miss the woman I used to be who could ski with them
my grief
trinkets that were give to me by childhood friends
my appetite for lobster
a locket that belonged to my mother and a tiny gold pinky ring (for a tiny pinky) that belonged to my sister
something that's been eluding me for weeks, I keep thinking I should be searching for it — but I can't remember what it is
anger, frustration, dissatisfaction, fear, negativity
the book that opened the world of poetry to me when I was 15
the ability to ride my bicycle
one and a half inches in height
my need to rearrange my rooms every six months
the zealous desire to correct everyone's grammar
my ability to get up early and bound out of bed
a leather jacket
a piece to a puzzle
the fourth page of sheet music for The Maple Leaf Rag composed by Scott Joplin
twenty dollars for winning eleventh place dairy showman at the All-American Dairy Show in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
my ability to listen to the soundtrack of Les Choristes without tearing up
the ability to run fast
my desire to paint or draw
my good eyesight
the anxieties of youth
my desire to fight anything or anyone
my memories of some of the traumatic events of my childhood
my zeal for being a fan of competitive athletics
duct tape, so then everything fell apart
to-do lists and grocery lists
my voice
my sense of security
my favorite motorcycle because I made a bad decision
my fear and loathing of morning
the screw to my glasses, when my van rolled twice after my left tire blew at 70 mph
a prehistoric hatchet head I had found on the beach at Black Lake, stolen from my jacket pocket at a Rochester restaurant on Alexander Street
the rest of my eighth grade class, at Expo 1970
my marbles
my fearful way of thinking
my forty-eighth year
electric power — oh so many many times
the desire to eat 16 ounces of Bridge Mix before bedtime
my desire to write children's books and to learn to quilt
my pearly whites, replaced by permanent implants
a single nickel when I was 5 years old
pebbles from Provincetown
a song from San Francisco
the ability to go up and down stairs without using a handrail
the battle with dust
the urge to be in crowds
old lingerie including my grandmother's white satin nightgown
the opportunity to ride horses and to be in their presence daily
my favorite tweezers
my mother's earring that I wasn't supposed to have worn
a woolly caterpillar my daughter had been "protecting"
my sensitivity to spicy food
the sense of certainty that if I fall down, I will be okay
the total adoration of a little boy who has outgrown that sort of thing
certain battles with gravity
my cell phone (while I was talking on it)
most of what I thought I knew, especially what I thought was true about myself
a snippet of my late mother's hair, my wedding pearls, a silver bangle from my first love, and a crystal first communion rosary — lost when thieves broke into my home
my wedding ring, found a year later while turning over the vegetable garden
a book on cooking with sea vegetables, the only book I regret selling, out of about 7,000
any chance of becoming rich
my fear of eating chocolate
my habitual "nice guy" pose
my fear of being myself
my ability to tell how old people are just by looking at them
hundreds of games of spider solitaire
every stand of asparagus I have tired to establish in my backyard
my ability to do cartwheels
my agility and flexibility
time
my poker face
my mom's Swiss army knife
my interest in calligraphy
cooking skills
Penguigui, a very dear stuffed animal
my appendix
naturally blonde hair
very old coins and bills, passed down from my grandparents
my sense of direction
the perverted pleasure I used to get in sinking deeper and deeper into my depressions, instead of acknowledging them and letting them pass
the desire to start my life over again
a box of letters from my grandmother, stored in a box with my name on it, and the word "treasures"
a cheap red "Made in USA" bandana kerchief, lost in the lobby of a fancy hotel in Europe — one minute I had it and the next minute it was gone
the strength in my hands that I need in order to open jars
words, when speaking or telling a story
my job and my paycheck
my sweet little rabbit toy, in a dairy case at a local grocery store, age three
my nerve to drive fast in heavy traffic, especially in New Jersey
contact lenses, lost in swimming pools, showers, bathroom across the United States and even one in England
my fear of birds
a beautiful black cape, lost somewhere in a bar in New Orleans as I fled an overzealous flirter
my favorite watch, in an airport or on a plane, somewhere between the Pacific and Eastern time zones
my ability to endure Alex Trebeck just so I can watch Jeopardy, one of my favorite TV shows for many decades
my need to read every word of a book, even one I'm not especially enjoying
my attachment to those things I have lost
the need to have the last word
Thank you to all these contributors:
Alexandria Crump
Amy Wilson
Antonia Matthew
Barbara Cartwright
Barbara Kane Lewis
Barbara West
Blue Waters
Carla DeMello
Carol Bossard
Carol Clarke
Chris Devenpeck
Christine Carstensen
David Schurman
Diana Kreutzer
Diane Sullivan
Dudley Paul
Eleni Rigas
Elizabeth Wilkinson
Gabrielle Vehar
Gary Rith
Gary Russo
Hannah Utter
Janet Klock
Joe Zhang
Judy Cogan
Kathleen Halton
Kathleen Morrow
Kathy Hopkins
Laura LaRosa
Lauren Schenkman
Laurie Petersen
LillianTuskey
Linda Keeler
Lois Dugo
Loretta Louviere
Lynne Taetzsch
M Richard Leopold
Margaret Dennis
Mary Allen Miller
Mary Susan Reid
Mary Roberts
Maude Rith
Maureen Owens
Melissa Hamilton
Melissa Zarem
Michael Schaff
Mihal Ronen
Nancy Gabriel
Nancy Barno Reynolds
Natalie Detert
Nicole Ja
Nina Miller
Pat Ladley
Patty Little
Paula Peters Mara
Peggy Stevens
Peter Ladley
Pilar Greenwood
Ray Edwin
Rebecca Weger
Rob Sullivan
Sara Robbins
Sharon Yntema
Shirley Elliott
Siouxsie Easter
Stacey Murphy
Sue Crowley
Sue Norvell
Susan Lesser
Sylvia J. Bailey
Sylvia Miller
Tina Wright
Victoria Armstrong
Will Fudeman
Xi Lin
Yvonne Fisher
Zee Zahava
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