I’ve been thinking a lot about things, lately. Mostly, how I am tired of them. The nondescript and the useless diluting the functional and the meaningful until all of it feels like rubbish. I’m having a yard sale shindig this Saturday and I can’t wait to get rid of the stuff cluttering my life while listening to a live bluegrass band in my backyard with friends. If you’re a pal of Hope State Style, ping me for the details, I’d love to see you there!
It’s true I like to pick things. Browsing Salvation Army, scanning the streets on trash night (just scored a Marcel Breuer Wassily B3 chair in need of restoration), bringing things home from my travels … all favorite pastimes. But it doesn’t always follow that I want to live with them. Maybe I need to have a store at some point. It’s just exercise for my eye, a challenge for my brain and a thrill when I find something no one else is looking for.
I decided to pull out these photos this week when the strap of my sandal broke.
Yiannis is the gregarious old flirt who would not sell me those sandals until I had drunk three glasses of farmer’s jug wine with him in his little workshop and store in Paroikia, Greece. We became friends during my time on the island, and enjoyed talking about music. I shared with him the Greek pieces I was working on with my vocal ensemble, and he played me some harmonica tunes.
I thought I would be more upset about them breaking, but all I could think of was, “time to go back.”