I have stuff. Lots and lots of stuff So much stuff that my stuff has stuff. I've been going through a few things. If I was ambitious there would be a lot less of it. But in spite of the overwhelming task before me, there are memories buried there. I found a forgotten folder that contains a letter from the White House, addressed to me when I was nine. My friend Ladonna and I sold watermelon. Our parents cut it into slices, and we loaded it in a little wagon and sold it to the neighbors. Did they actually eat it? Was it clean? What had we hauled in that wagon previously? No matter, we thought it noteworthy enough that POTUS should be informed of the great event that occurred on Norton Road in Alexandria. I have the letter but have lost track of Ladonna. Another friend down the street was Mondania Bullock. She had pierced ears. I had never seen ears with holes in them. My dad said that was for gypsies. And Catholics. Mondania was Catholic. I remember her each year on March 5. That was her birthday. Why has that been stuck in my head for over 50 years? I haven't seen her since 1959. I also remember sitting in church on March 10, thinking I'm 10 today on March 10. It's Girl Scout Sunday, and I'm wearing my Brownie uniform to church. Some of my stuff is not tangible but memories that come floating through my consciousness from time to time, like the floaters that pass by my eyeballs, temporarily blocking my view. My mother told me that her sister dated a true count. He was a count because his mother was an aristocrat from Richmond. I'm not sure why that made him a count, but that's the story. He was Count Von Gimmigan. I was looking through old photos at my cousin's house, and there was a photo! The Count standing by a fine looking automobile worthy of aristocracy. If Aunt Mary had become his bride, I could be visiting my cousins at a villa on the Mediterranean. So now I'm preserving my mother's memory along with mine. No wonder I have so much stuff.
