Every Little Thing is Magic
3 Mar 2015
What have we here? A relic of life in my early twenties. A sink full of apples. When I first moved to Berkeley to start grad school in 2004, I was there for a month before I got my first stipend check from my fellowship. Given that I’d just come back from an unpaid internship at the Dostoevsky Museum in St. Petersburg, things were pretty tight there for a little while. Luckily, I discovered the magic of the bargain produce bin at Berkeley (sadly, it took me a few more years to discover that the Bowl’s produce prices were so good that I probably could have afforded non-bruised apples. Oh well.). I’d show up right when they opened in the morning and get all the fruits and vegetables I could: huge bags of slightly bruised apples, bell peppers with a few blemishes, grapes that had come loose from their bunches, pears a bit past their prime, whole artichokes slowly grading from green to brown. All of these big hulking bags were one dollar or less, and I considered them treasures. A few minutes with a paring knife, and they were good as new.
When I got home to my little apartment, with its hardwood floors, bright kitchen, double tiled sinks, and rush of traffic from busy Dwight Way, I’d wash everything right away, so I could just grab a few pieces of fruit as I ran out the door. I remember lots of trips to the Bowl and tons of these clear plastic bags, but what I remember more than anything was the apples. They were one of my main food groups that first year. I was so overwhelmed and overworked that I mostly ate a simple rotation of quesadillas, spinach lasagna, and yogurt/fruit/nuts. I didn’t actually learn to cook for four more years.
It’s crazy how this one little photo (stumbled upon in Picasa while looking for something else) brought all those days right back to me. All the pots of coffee I made to fuel the late-night homework sessions, with my papers, notebooks, and dictionaries spread all over the table. Long walks in the pouring rain to my Descriptive Grammar class. The post-it note I left by my front door during that long winter: “Turn off electric blanket.” Saturdays spent in the department library trying to translate Soviet poetry lauding concrete (no joke). Fall afternoons baking pumpkin bread and reading Doctor Zhivago. Trekking through all four levels of the subterranean library, my backpack full to bursting with books. Having my breath taken away every time I saw the city lights driving back to the East Bay from San Francisco. Not being able to believe, on a daily basis, that I could possibly live in such a gorgeous place and be paid to read books and discuss them with brilliant people. An ocean of memories, full of waves and tides, caught in a few hundred pixels.
I had a similar experience recently when I was checking my Amazon account to see when something was going to be delivered. In a flash, there were all of my orders from the past year.The one that brought tears to my eyes was a set of newborn mittens, which we found waiting for us the day we brought our sweet baby home from the hospital. It was hot, and we were hungry, and we had this tiny precious new person to care for. I fed him in the afternoon sunlight, and then those mittens went straight on, since we were too scared to cut his nails for weeks on end.
And just yesterday I went to Trader Joe’s to get a few things (mostly cottage cheese…and chocolate), and I picked up a few bags of Eric’s favorite trail mix. It’s kind of the holy grail of trail mix: almonds, cashews, pistachios, cherries, cranberries, chocolate chips. I put a handful in my mouth and was immediately taken back to the first days we had Micah home. I lived on that trail mix, often inhaled at 6am after an early feed, along with scones and pastrami sandwiches, delivered by the world’s greatest friend.
And so for several months now I’ve been thinking about this: how every little thing is magic. I sometimes feel a pressure to keep lots of things for the sake of memory, and there are indeed plenty of storehouses of them around here. But there are also quite a lot of things I’ve let go. And so I just had this wonderful sense of peace that whatever little thing it is that I decide to keep, or whatever thing is automatically archived for me online or on the shelves of my local grocery store, that little thing holds a whole world within it.
Mar 04, 2015 @ 06:18:03
Beautiful! And beautiful that you found some moments to write a post!
Mar 05, 2015 @ 10:42:37
Thank you! I agree, and am so excited to be writing again!
Mar 04, 2015 @ 12:03:56
This is such a beautiful post! Loved every word. And yes, sometimes something so little brings back a piece of life we had forgotten about. And the best part is that what we remember is always just the good things. Hope you are well mama. xxx
Mar 05, 2015 @ 10:42:18
Oh Marina, thank you so much! You are so sweet! I hope you and your sweet little ones are doing wonderfully well too! XOXOXO
Mar 04, 2015 @ 17:07:44
I really loved this trip down memory lane. That sink full of apples, the memory of translating poetry lauding concrete (the absurdity! I suddenly recall HR’s poetry seminar and everybody fearfully waiting his or her turn to present on Blok’s “Rodina.” The image that sticks is that red balloon…), the beauty of the Bay. I recently had nostalgia of my own sweep over me; K & I were meeting your “name-twin” at Fondue Fred and, walking by Dwinelle, I remembered it all–the good, the bad, the amazing (the really ridiculously bad, too)! So much history. So much split pea soup. 🙂 Not enough dessert before dinner.
It was good to hear your voice.
Mar 05, 2015 @ 10:30:55
Oh, thank you so much! You are so sweet, and I am so glad you heard my voice in this post. I miss you and those crazy Berkeley days:) Ahhh, poetry seminar! I remember Dvenadtsat’…and hoping I didn’t get called on for that one. Such madness, wasn’t it, spending our days locked up in the library, and then stepping out into sunshine…or, more probably, rain, but at least rain that made everything bloom with absurd beauty. Oh, I do miss those days, with all their stress and all their glory. So much split pea soup, so many walks between Broadway and Piedmont, and, indeed, not enough dessert before dinner. I love you, friend. 🙂
Mar 04, 2015 @ 17:22:44
I too, obviously like to save things but just keeping a picture of something can bring back the memory and yet not take up any physical space.
Mar 05, 2015 @ 10:27:24
So true! Sometimes when Eric and I are getting rid of old things, we take a picture, just for the memory! Takes up way less space!
Mar 06, 2015 @ 10:46:00
When I saw the photo of all those delicious-looking apples, I had to go get myself one!
But gotta say, I’ve always associated concrete with another Soviet ‘art’, the architecture of those endless dreadful apartment buildings. But why didn’t poetry occur to me?
*Of course* there had to be poetry 😛
Mar 12, 2015 @ 10:47:54
Ha, so true! Poetry and art and novels and movies, all praising the glories of concrete and agriculture! One of my professors writes about dance, and he was working on a book about the Soviet tractor ballets–actually a real thing! Hope you enjoyed your apple;)
Mar 09, 2015 @ 12:32:52
it is interesting how our memories work and how connected everything is.. you hear a song and there you are ten years ago at a friends wedding.. watching old cartoons and classic 90’s kids movies on movie night is such a blast from the past.. as are old board games…
this come an go.. it’s the memories that are with us forever..
Mar 12, 2015 @ 10:48:08
So true, Hena, so true!
Mar 16, 2015 @ 20:20:53
Smells are my trigger. A certain cleanser, someone’s perfume, a candle. Each can take me to a place or help me remember a person. Memory is a marvelous thing!
Mar 17, 2015 @ 10:08:11
It’s so amazing how that works! Every now and again I will catch a whiff of CK One, and I’m right back in seventh grade! Thank you so much for reading and for commenting! I am so looking forward to getting to know you better:)