i become unusually attached to inanimate objects. i name my cars, cameras, computers, toys, housewares, and pretty much everything else that will sit still for it. i suppose it’s an expression of how happy i am to own things. i like owning things. for some reason it still feels novel and deeply satisfying, though i’ve been doing it for years.

some things surpass this general fondness and achieve a degree of importance that is often a source of some good-natured ribbing. i had a car some years ago that i was irrationally attached to. Datsy was fun to drive, and trusty in her way, but i BLUBBERED when i had to let go of this car (a car, mind you i had not driven in months, but still loved unequivocally)

i also feel this way about my blankie. oddly, the blankie doesn’t have a name, but i probably own nothing i care about more. i’ve had it since i was 15 and have dragged it along on every vacation, slept with it most nights of my life since that time, and determined that if we have had sex, but not on or under my blankie, it simply does not count.

of a slightly different ilk are my tarot cards. i believe (think of me what you will) that they have a life of their own. and, much like many other possessions of mine, i’d had them for a long while. longer than hodie has been alive, for certain. then, earlier this year, i managed to leave them somewhere i ought not have, and they were warped, torn, and utterly ruined. i felt the loss of them keenly and experienced pangs of guilt that still havent completely subsided. replacing them was difficult and painful, though ultimately a wonderful success, but i still had to find a way to bid farewell to something that had been an important part of my life for well over a decade.

the only thing that made sense was to burn them. i could in no way simply throw them in the trash; it would be utterly disrespectful. i wanted to take them to the ocean, where i am happiest, where they have gone with me so many times before,  and say my goodbyes there. and so, i loaded a bottle of wine, some firewood, and a cohort along for the ride. also, my blankie.

the day was grey, but warm and windless. we were tucked back into the cove as the day grew dim. the fire was built and tended by my compatriot, for though i have many skills, firemaking is definitely not among them. dinner was simple but satisfying; white nectarines, pita with garlic hummus, wine country chicken salad, and a bottle of vigonier; i wanted to provide all of the pleasures i could at this particular wake.

and then as true night fell, i sat before the fire with each card in my hand, thinking about times in the past when i had drawn them; the tower when i met one of the most important people i have ever known, strength when mine was failing, the 9 of wands when speed was of the essence. the 10 of cups i saved for last. i held it in hand and thought about it’s implications; happiness is says.and so it was. then it was cast into the fire.

it is never easy for me to let go. objects and people alike are hard to relinquish. i weep when i must say goodbye. but though it was hard to do, i think it was the best possible way to bid farewell.