The Things I Carry

These days, I am reading Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, one of the most highly acclaimed books about Vietnam. He talks about the things they carried with them in Vietnam. They carried malaria tablets, love letters, 28-pound mine detectors, dope, illustrated Bibles--and they carried each other. The more I read, the more my mind drifted back to the title (the book goes far beyond the title). Then one day my thoughts took off on a tangent from the title. I got to thinking about the things I carry, not that anyone should care. I found that I carry much more than I had realized. I am wonderer, a thinker, a writer. Ideas, insights, just plain old sights, quotations, all kinds of things occur to us every day, but most of them quickly evaporate from our mind and cannot be recovered. So, I always carry pen and paper of some sort. I don’t trust my unaided memory. Along the way, I find all other sorts of uses for carrying a writing instrument of some kind, and a notebook or note cards. Ever since I received one as a birthday present when I was eight, I have carried a pocket knife. And I keep it sharp. I spend a lot of time outdoors, where I find the knife to be invaluable. Most men, it seems, and many women, carry this small tool in their pocket or purse. I don’t carry a knife on airplanes. A pocket comb. My hair is very fine and the wind, even a mild breeze, tosses it around until I look like mad man. In old age I am worrying much less about my hair; I no longer need each one to be always in place. My wallet, for obvious reasons. Almost everywhere I go, I carry a book. If, for any reason, I have to wait for any length of time, I have something to do: read. I can always entertain or educate myself. In the car, and in the pickup, I always carry a book of light reading and a book of serious nonfiction. Also, a Bible, a dictionary, and a hymnal. These, along with a notebook, pens and pencils are in each vehicle at all times. Time spent waiting is never wasted, never boring. In each vehicle I try always to have a stash of almonds or dried fruit. When I begin to fade, these help recover alertness and vitality The vehicles stay stocked with boots, shovel, gloves, plastic bags, a trowel, an old towel, and an old jacket. Frequently I take time out to dig a plant or gather wildflower seeds. In recent months I’ve added a couple of small, modern technological machins: a cell phone and a digital camera. There is so much I see that I don’t want to forget. Out with the camera. I am amazed that it does not run out of film, and that if I take bad pictures, I don’t learn it too late, after they’ve been developed. Although they are appropriate, indeed almost essential for some people and situations, I’ve never wanted a cell phone. Almost, I’ve said that I would never have one. I like my privacy, don’t want to be available, on call. But life circumstances change. Often I go on walks with no definite route. Sometimes I find opportunity to roam and explore the semi-wild. At times I have taken some bad falls in remote places where, if I were to break a leg, no one would know where I was and it would be unlikely that someone would come that way, perhaps for weeks. I am seventy-two-years-old. I hear that bones get brittle with old age. My wife has diabetes. A daughter alerted me to the need to carry a cell phone, everywhere I go,just for emergencies. So, I carry a cell phone. I pay for the minimum minutes. It is only for emergency use. Only family members know the number, so others can’t invade my privacy. I hope it, like insurance, never gets used. Finally, only three or four times a year might I be found outdoors without carrying, on top of my head, a hat or a cap. Until I was about thirty-years-old, until Jack Kennedy became an American president who did not wear a hat, the vast majority of men in this country wore hats. They would be just as likely to go without underclothes as to go outdoors bareheaded. I wear a hat as part of my heritage. I wear a hat because it keeps the wind from making a straw stack out of my hair. I wear a hat because it takes only about five minutes of unshaded sun before I have a major sick headache. I wear a hat in cool or cold weather because it keeps me warmer. I keep hearing that most of our body heat escapes through the top of our head. Whether true or not, I know the hat insulates my scalp from the cold. After a funeral, at the grave side in winter, I respectfully remove my hat during the committal service. It makes me uncomfortably aware of the difference the hat makes. In truly cold weather, I am amazed to see men bundled up in coats and scarves, but bareheaded. Especially those who do not even have hair covering the top of their head. What do you carry? I suspect it reveals a good deal about who you are.