Symbolism

Material possessions have come to mean a little less to me over the past number of years.  I still have far too much 'stuff' and would like to winnow further.  So much of it amounts to little more than clutter. 

There's certainly something to be said for BuyNothingChristmas.

The fleeting excitement of getting and then having is quickly replaced by the knowledge that material substance, by and large, does little but take up space.  I find this to be true both corporeally as well as more ephemerally.  The things by which I'm visibly surrounded tend to occupy my mind as well as usurping bits of air that might be of more use to me.  Most of the stuff is superfluous, meaning I'd rather have those thoughts freed up as well.

Being aware of this, I ascribe much greater intrinsic value to those few inanimate objects that have come to represent something a little bit more than whatever mundane purpose for which they were originally designed.

I have a navy T-shirt (currently pictured at right with Tavish) that has WYDO across the chest in big, white letters.  It was a gift from my wife a couple years ago and is my favourite shirt ever.  I couldn't (or refused to) pronounce my own name when I was a toddler and imperiously dubbed myself Wydo.  "Me Wydo!"  So, my dad had a small navy T-shirt made with big white letters proclaiming my new name to all and sundry.  The new one from my wife is simply a bigger version of that.  I still have the old one too, nearly 30 years old; it's sported by an old teddy bear (shut up!) on my dresser.

For all my love of books (and my sheer horror at individuals who indiscriminately crack the spine of paperbacks... asshats), there are only two I have whose loss I would deeply lament.  My dad gave me an absolutely gorgeous hardback of Huckleberry Finn when I was but a lad starting my own trek down the river, and the quality of the gold-edged pages combined with the paternal inscription makes it precious to me.  Similarly, one of my aunts stumbled upon an old hardcover of Last of the Mohicans back in the '80s and, knowing my literary passion, sent it to me for Christmas.  (She, too, inscribed it, which always increases the value to me.)  Also written inside the cover was evidence of it being bequeathed at least once before: "To Clara, From Will, Xmas '95".  There's no publication date inside, but, doing the math, that puppy's at least 111 years old.  (!!)  There are very few smells I like as much as that produced by riffling the pages of a musty old tome.

(Three books, actually.  I have a signed omnibus edition of The Fionavar Tapestry, given me personally by the author when I got to meet him this past December.  Sort of hard to replace that.)

Not quite as seriously, I treasure the Anakin Skywalker Force FX lightsabre that I indulged in a couple years ago.  Cost me, like, 150 bucks or something.  But every time I turn off the lights in my bedroom, flick the switch to fire it up and am greeted by the oh so familiar snap-hiss of its ignition while being bathed in the blue glow of the polycarbonate blade, I am temporarily transported back to that moment in 1983 when I walked out of the movie theatre, having just seen Return of the Jedi.  I wasn't quite nine years old and so badly wanted to BE Luke Skywalker.  No other cinematic experience has ever made that sort of impression.  That lightsabre is a glowing blue conduit to my childhood.

So actually, I am quite as serious about that as the other symbols in my life.  Keeping a link open to one's childhood and revisiting it on a regular basis is more important than what I think most people are aware.  What's the hurry in growing up?

I have a beat-up, black Swiss army knife that I got from my dad when I 'graduated' from grade six.  It's accompanied me on fishing trips, Cub Scout outings, camping trips and I can't recall the last time I used anything but its pair of scissors to trim my fingernails.  (ew!)  We are inextricably bound, me and it.  The blade has no locking mechanism; it wobbles quite a bit and I used the knife sharpener on our old electric can opener far too many times for it to keep an edge these days.  I still think it's pretty cool, though.  The fold-out saw has transformed more saplings than I care to recollect into marshmallow roasting sticks.

The most obvious symbols that are meaningful to me are my wedding and engineering rings.  I won't wear any jewelry other than those.  I think it's very cool being a lefty engineer, too.   The iron ring is worn on the pinkie finger of the working hand, nestling mine right beside my wedding band.  The stainless steel sits lower and less prominently on that finger than the softer white and yellow gold circle does on my ring finger.  Make a fist and the two are butted up against each other, the gold in danger of being scored by the steel; open the palm and the gold is again elevated.  I love that.  The omnipresent symbolism helps me to keep certain priorities straight.

Lastly, though it takes up no extra space at all, the favourite of my four tattoos is the one on my back, between my shoulder blades.  My paternal grandfather served as part of a Canadian contingent in a British tank battalion in WWII and his unit was captured by ze Germans.  He endured (I think) nine months in a POW camp, finally being liberated by Allied forces when he weighed only 90 pounds and had lost all his teeth.  For as long as I knew him he was a jovial gastronome, readily identified by his thick, black-rimmed glasses and contagious laughter.  Largely in memory of him, but also for the larger remembrance, I had done a poppy with the phrase, Lest We Forget, tattooed underneath.

Keeping in theme with the link to childhood, that phrase was tattooed in the Star Wars font.  Always a geek.

Comments

[Mark]

Nice thoughts. Gosh. It makes me think of the inanimate objects I still hold dear, even though I rarely hold them. The tattoo for your grandfather? That's just awesome.

I like the notion of BuyNothingChristmas, too. At least our families draw names now, which makes it a little less about the gifts because everybody can concentrate on finding one meaningful thing (whenever possible).

[marian]

"I still have the old one too, nearly 30 years old; it's sported by an old teddy bear (shut up!) on my dresser."

This is the most charming post I've read in a long time. What a lovely window into the sweet and sentimental phenomenon that is Wydo.

[rick]

Book spine-crackers-- whether paperback or hardcover-- I'm so there with you. Once a book comes into my possession it becomes a friend. Perhaps a well-loved friend or maybe an annoying and obnoxious and friend who cause you to recoil in horror and disgust ("Hello, Newman"), but a friend nonetheless and you don't abuse friends if you can help it and you certainly don't break their back by way of greeting.

I've got some primers on geography and grammar that belonged to my great-grandfather (someone I never knew) dating from the 1870's and 1880's, with inscriptions and cipherings and shaky elementary school calligraphy practices, and like your copy of Mohicans it lets you wonder about other lives lived.

Everything else, from the bear & t-shirt watching you practice with your light sabre in the dark to the hierarchy of your rings and the tats- proves that the only real value things have are the values and associations and meanings we bring to them, and pass on with them.

Happy Father's day, Wydo.

[TerriTorial]

Wonderful post Wydo.

I am touched by your Tattoo for your Grandfather and all he endured. My maternal grandparents are both war vets and I am so very proud of them. Grandfather was shot by a sniper in Italy and Grandmother was a nurse caring for the injured.