Artifacts

Cleaning out the garage is like going on an archaeological dig through the relics of my past. Every corner, shelf, and drawer contains reminders of some other time, experience. Some things have spent more time with me with any of my friends, children or husbands, and in their own way, are certainly more reliable. The 1970's orange crock pot has never failed to return an email, and it certainly has never cheated on me. It just sits there, waiting for Christmas to come around so it can jump to life and brew hot cider with cinnamon sticks or mulled wine. It has lived everywhere I have since 1976, been in and out of countless moving boxes, and never once has it complained, or asked for anything of me, except an occasional cleaning and careful handling of it's glass lid. People should be so easy.

Yesterday, I found something that says it all about life in 1976 for most of us who grew up in the 60's - a metal, hand-operated juice squeezer. It's a funny old thing but it worked the two or three times I used it. Basically, it's like a gigantic garlic press - you put the orange in it's metal basket, lift the long handle and bring it down on the fruit. With enough pressure, juice filters out into the glass you placed underneath it. Ah, the triumph of the simple life.

At that time, we avoided anything unnecessarily electric, like knives or can openers. It was an embarrassment to have a trash compactor or a microwave (especially since the radiation might kill you). No one ate anything with red dye, (same thing - might kill you) and granulated sugar was called "white death". Eating meat was questionable, grinding your own flour heroic, and working at a food coop was the norm. And this was in Oxnard, of all places.

So I bought a heavy, awkward, ineffective orange juicer, just because it was the right thing to do. Now, the fact that I rarely used it wasn't as important as the fact that I did not have an electric one. Same for the silver I didn't register for (it had to be pewter) and the other wedding gifts I returned.

Although younger people seem to think they invented the current 'green' movement, my little juicer is proof that they didn't. We were composting, recycling, eating vegetarian, avoiding processed foods, and conserving energy in the 70's. It was an extension of all of the values that carried us through the 60's, and probably hang on to this day.

What we learned, though, that they may have yet to discover, is that the power of reality can sweep over and crush the best of intentions. Babies really didn't want to eat the food we created in our hand grinders, and we all ended up serving them Gerber's at some point. Our commitment to steering them away from fast food succumbed to convenience. The first birthday party they attended wiped away the restriction against sugary treats. And once they had money of their own? Well...all bets were off. Cigarettes? Smoking!? Who would have thought?

When I first picked up my juicer this week I thought "Why keep this? I never used it. I never will use it. It's over 30 years old!". So into the Goodwill box it went, along with a microscope no one ever looked through, a stereo from a car I no longer own, extra clocks, unused tools, and anything else we couldn't justify owning.

Sitting amidst it's other forlorn friends on the way to be resold or tossed, it called to me. And this morning I went and got it and put it back in a snug corner of a garage cabinet.

Some memories need visuals, I guess. You need to be able to touch them, hold them, remember how idealistic and silly you were, but how sincerely you meant to do the right thing.

Now, when more important things are gone, out of reach, untouchable, irretrievable, I don't think it's such a bad idea.