top of page

Connections w/ Things

"stars" by Maxfield Parrish

We all got our favorite things. We all got’em. Faves that we rave on.

What really gets me is : How Important To Our Existence 

some of these favorite things are. Can’t live without them. Gotta have ‘em.

We move. We pack. We go live in a new place. These favorite things are taken with us.

They go where we go. Trinkets. Rocks. Artifacts of nature.

Things that have no descriptive names and are unidentifiable :

doodads, geegads, gewgaws, whatnots, knicknacks, thingamajigs, and the ever cherished thingamabobs.

A feather. A souvenir. A memoir. Yes even things labeled tchotchkes pronounced like chot-skees yes it is a real word. They travel with us. Over the years over time they stay with us. They journey through life with us. They are a part of who we are.

Our connection to these collected things is subliminal yet substantially powerful.

I have carved out an existence over the years of selectively having keeping owning few things. Collecting things over the ages and epochs and eons can create a yoke a sort of subjugation around one’s being that can, over time, continually drag you down.

Become somewhat of a burden possibly  :

(1) Physically, by having to physically schlep about everywhere all the time.


(2) Mentally, by having to deal with the amount of space they inhabit

around you all of the time.

For instance :

How to store them.

How to keep them safe and sound.

How to make sure they do not get ruined over time.

Where to put them.

How to maintain upkeep that some things require.

How to keep track of where they are so you can locate them when you wish to use them. Many times upon not being able to find the thing you cannot locate, one goes out and finds another one of those things to use at the time of need. Now you have the two same things. You then keep the both of them. One is then a new found thing and then one becomes an I give up lost thing. The Lost and Found Dept. of your environs.

I have carved out a life surrounded by what is me. I like to keep things around me that give me great pleasure, are pleasing to the eye, that fit with each other and are compatible, and have an aesthetic and quality of quality that is long lasting. Also a huge factor in my choice of personal belongings is the color of the thing. Verrry important to me myself eye.

The color of.

I keep few doohickies. I love the simplicity of organized space. Primarily of great importance to the meself, when wanting to use my space, it is all ready to go. I don’t need to put work in before I can do my real work. It is ready to go. All set. I kind-of like it just that way.

That’s the way I like it, uh-huh uh-huh. That’s just how I roll ….  !!!

I know all the various connotations, stigmas, shaming, disgrace, and negative characteristics attached equally to both the qualities of either being :

a so-called clutter-stuff-no person

or a so-called clutter-stuff-pro one.

This is not why I write today or speak about our relationship with things.

Judging or labeling us for our decor choices in how we operate in the world is a real dead end street and not worth a whit of anybody’s time. Both choices are Aok.

That’s just what it is a choice. It is all only a preference, a tendency, a liking.

That’s just how y’all roll.

Things. Things. Things.

Today. I speak of Things.

The things I speak today of are those very certain very special kinds of things or objects that have a cord attached to you and you with it, and speaks to you with it’s very own language that only you and that thing understand. I may make a leap and say that

this thing has a soul. This thing is a keepsake. This thing is a treasure.

It is of importrance and primary importance to you in your world. To you it holds no monetary value, only intrinsic precious worth.




High regard.


And. Why ? Why is this ? One may say you have granted given connected to this thing a soul a spirit a sacredness a deep inner meaning because of how it speaks to you by how it very personally means much to you by how much joy and significance and remarkableness it radiates. It has an essence. An ethos. Of its very own.

These relics recall time past. They bring to mind so much. There are so many categories and varieties of these holy moly gismos.

  Here, locally we go ape with agape over agates. Just love love them.

Here are a few categories :

  • Some are found in nature and mark that day that time that place that space that Moment. You hold it in the palm of your hand and wrap your fingers round and it fits. A bond. Some things in this category are just plain beautiful in & of themselves.

They bring you great comfort & joy. They rock your world.

  •  Some are gifts or objects given to you passed onto you by your buds your treasured best friends that have come into or out of your life. Some soulfilled things you treasure are all that you have physically left of their presence. The thing permeates with your best bud’s past presence. It is all that you can touch in your hand of the once treasured being that you knew so well and who was such a large part & influence of your whole life even Now. It’s all you got left. Besides what memories you carry you hold you keep way deep inside the inner sanctums of your heart pumping pump organ. Your love for them still circulates inside you, flows through you, now.

  • Some are actual used by you all the time tools.

  • Some are used by you at times in your life articles of clothing.

  • Some are trophies & medals. They mark a specific victory or success.

  • Some are silly goofy loony out there don't know why it speaks to me I cannot let this thing go. Gotta keep it. Evokes a feeling of surprised !! amusement and joy and humor just looking at it.  Being around it brings great delight.

  • Some are very-special hand-me-downs passed from generation-to-generation by ancestors that are one-of-a-kind legacies to your-family-history.

  • Some. Are. Just. Because.They. Are. No explainations needed. No rationale.

  • Some are just because you have carried it around for so long. It has now become a genuine certified class-A antiquity antique due to its age its tenure its occupancy of shelf life its un-usefulness due to its use being replaced by some new and improved upgraded shiny object. In me I hold a love of the old-fashioned. Things were done in a way long ago that are incredibly gorgeous. The design of things old are irreplaceable they come from a time and place that will never be again.  A place of curves folks.

  • Some I am sure there are many many more varieties which I have not noted.

I recall a gift I received from a very close friend. You gotta hear this. I think this explains much more clearly what it is I am trying to convey. This is real life. I know this will make you laugh because it made me laugh at the time.

Let me place the story into a proper context :

Picture this if you will : 

I just got a job at a photo lab in Seattle. I was merely 20 yrs old. Coming out of the manager’s office after the interview, I was standing on the second floor balcony looking down at the lab below. A woman with long long hair that blended into and with the fringe and V-points hem of her hand-knit-you-could-tell burgundy poncho walked into the lab below. I saw her only from the back and from afar and in the distance yet she seemed to me so close, she sort-of-like magnified and zoomed-in-focus, in size, right before my eyes.

It was like she was bigger than Life. It was as if she grew in stature & importance when I saw her. In a glance I saw her. I saw her. I saw who she was in an instant.

And. I knew immediately we were going to be the best of buds.

 A poncho ?? You have got to be kidding me !! Nobody wears a poncho these days !! What the heck is it with this woman ??

We eventually ended up working right across the hall from each other. We printed away on our automated printers, selecting R-G-B & C-M-Y color corrections and timed density exposure corrections as we printed and looked at our slide shows all night long.

The color lab had a large mail order business for slide development with customers nationwide. Most of the images were travel scenes. Most of the images were from real pros. I was enthusiastically on fire and in my element, printing. And most importantly, I was working along side my bud. Together we sang our hearts out loud to the cranked up real loud boom box loud Bonnie Raitt loud music as we worked. We were both introduced in the company meetings together as the esteemed, illustrious, and legendary “big guns” because our printing achievements broke all the documented records for dust-free cleanliness, dynamic high speed, spot on judgement calls, and far and few hardly ever

reprints that needed reprinting.

We were Together The Best.

One year for my birthday my bud presented me with a present. Upon opening it up I was completely flabberghasted. Dumbfounded. speechless. What the. Heck. Is It ??

My bud gave me a small ornate vase. It was very ornamently decoratively painted in a mawkishly syrupy soupy-dopey saccharine sentimental Rococo style. Painted on its face was a man & woman dressed with bloomers and silly boofant hairdos as they pranced about. This vase was so NOT me at all. I looked at it in surprised shock. Ewww. It was the farthest furtherest farthest most distant -est way away from what I liked. I did not know what to say.

I politely thanked her. My bud lit up like a cake full of birthday candles. She gushed about how she loved loved loved it, just look at the pretty gold trim paint, wow can you believe how beautiful this vase is she was ecstatic she was euphoric over this vase.

I just remember her then at That Moment.

I remember how important it was for her to give me that specific little vase and what it meant to her. It was so important. To her.

For me ? I made this immediate plate tectonics shift inside about how I actually felt about this bitty yet big vase. Shift. A stick-shift gear ka-jong change. I placed all of her exuberant enrapturedment for the vase inside the belly of the vase itself. This especially selected gift was from my bud. This vase represented her. I placed it over the many years in altars in plain sight so I could  see her. I saw my bud in the bud vase. It was an extension of her.

To me, this vase is truly beautiful. This vase is so me. This vase is all me. This vase is adored.

I love this vase so much. It means so much to me now more than ever before. It's beauty keeps growing in size over the years. It becomes more & more beautiful. Thank you Bud.

My bud was younger than me and I thought of course I’ll have her around along side me for a long long time. It has been 5 yrs since she disappeared on me one day. My best bud died due to health problems.

Today that tiny little vase holds so much inside it. It holds the honor of knowing someone who experienced Jimi Hendrix and heard Janis Joplin live in Seattle concerts. It holds the grace I have of knowing somebody that I loved so much I allowed her to call me the most ridiculously hilarious and goofy of names : Goobie. The vase holds inside it the day I had the honor of my bud in her 40's sharing with me the fact that she finally got to meet her real mom. The vase holds her wild “pet” crow that she fed hotdogs to, as I used to witness the event in wide eyed unbelievability. This scene, now tucked away safely inside the vase to keep always.

Her voice still echoes inside the vase all those blue-sey soul classics that she sang from her soul. I only have to hold it up to my ear like a shell from the sea to hear Aretha, Tina, and Bonnie. The teeny yet enormous vessel holds all my honor for her.

I had the honor to know someone who was Larger than Life.

Now. Contemplating. Strange to think.

Once. Once I wore a jeans skirt that went down to my ankles. I handmade and modified and sewed in a ‘V’ of added jeans material inside the ripped seam legs to turn pants into an ankle length skirt. Voila. I covered the skirt in colorful hand-embroidery. I loved loved that skirt. I used to call this skirt “baby.” My skirt had a name.

Really strange, rather odd, and a bit coo-coo that I once used a camera, a 35mm film camera that I also labeled “baby.” That was the name of my camera. I know. Sounds a bit weird. A skirt called “baby” on the fringes of strange, but to call a made of metal & glass camera “baby” ?? I will tell you why. I had such admiration such affection for this tool that gave me so much. So many new sights. So many world views. So many things to see with my very own eyes. Only because of this camera. I had an additional wider lens, a view somewhat semi-fish eyed that gave me such an open wider more more wider on the edges broader scope of the viewfinder’s scene without any distortion. I knew this camera like the back of my hand. And this camera fit in my hand as if it was an extension of my very own hand.

It was like a part of me and granted me gave me so much. Opened my eyes. Wider vision. Permitted me to go places further farther by going along with me c’mon kris as the reason to explore more. Explore. Look. See. Be. Baby was an extension of my eyes.

Strange. To think I have a pair of hiking boots that have taken me to many far away places.

I have such a strong affection for this particular pair of worn out crinkled up leather broken in scratched up so familiar with so at home when I wear these well-acquainted with my feet old pair of boots. The souls of these shoes have carried me far into the Himalayan Mts. allowing me enabling me to see the dense way outer galactic night sky of stars that were packed tight with so many billions of stars. Standing inside these boots I viewed stars speechlessly no words to describe teary eyed heart throbbing jaw dropping overwhelmed. These boots took me to the entrances of ancient monasteries in which I had to remove these very same boots in order to enter these most holiest of sanctuaries with feet in socks only out of respect and leave no trace behind please. They patiently and devotedly waited for me footless with loosely untied laces outside the door, taking a rest.

The other day I was in my art studio ready for action and was going to begin painting a brand new canvas. I have discovered this past year an incredible time saving tool called a digital projector. It is a tiny 2”X 2” cube that projects imagery via your computer.

I use it to somewhat loosely transfer designs to the canvas.

Ok!! here I am transferring. I use the bitty cube on a tripod. And. Not just any tripod.

A personally meaningful made of aluminum solid gold to me kris prized possession world view altering my world tripod. I completely stopped what I was doing the other day, transferring, adjusting the image. I stopped. I took in a breath with a gasp motionless.

I realized. Because there are things to realize. Time has come today.

Ok !! here I am using this tool called a tripod. Let me repeat for emphasis : not just any tripod. Get the picture. This particular tripod was supporting my bitty transfer cube.

The come full circle had been encircled.

The same exact tool that accompanied me that had been next to me with me there deep inside monasteries lit by candlelight way far away in the Himalayans was the one I was standing next to and using only now for my painting. This tripod made it possible for me to capture the deep dark inside these sacred spaces super long exposures no flash please no shoes please besides scenes on film. We’re talking at least 2-5 minutes long exposures.

And this tripod made it possible for me to bring home these scenes inside the monasteries. This tripod made it possible for me to capture and bring home the night skies of the Himalayans. This treasured cherished tripod was super lightweight and I packed it and carried it on my back the whole way in traversing goat trails by foot wearing my treasured cherished yes those very same funky held in high esteem hiking boots. These tools are gold to me. And here I am, today, as I paint, using the exact same tripod for photos as for paintings. A personal eureka poignant cardboard Kodak moment.

Gotta alotta lottsa miles on it.

We both gotta and gotta all

those miles twogether.

Thing. Thing. Thing. Is it really just a “thing.”

Maybe these precious objects are more like our buds.

Extensions of us who we are.

Or is it the importance the genuine bonds the worthiness

we build, the ties that bind us together with

thee Gizmos & thee Cozmos thee most unbeknownst who knowest thee.

And yes, I have to.

I just have to.

I have to do it.

Gotta. Can’t let this opportunity pass on by.

“These are a few of my favorite things” :

A goofy little vase

A pair of stinky old worn out boots

A plastic & metal support stand

Some faded bell bottom blues.

 An old-fashioned forget about it are you kidding me film camera.


Humor aside. No. Not just a thing. Not to my I's. Not to mine eyes.

Mine eyes have experienced the glory of these jewels.

All of these sun-setting purposeless except the tripod

sun-rising purposeful including the tripod

These they are golden.

They shine.

Light up my life.

And are all Larger than Life, baby.


bottom of page