3. I have a very morbid mind. Every time I'm walking or riding my bike in a wooded area and come across bits of clothing or shoes, I always imagine there is a murder victim nearby. The worst is when the articles belong to children. I try to stop myself--and have gotten better the past couple of weeks because there are a lot of lost/discarded clothes*--but I always have to do a quick search to make sure there really isn't an undiscovered corpse in the bushes or beneath the ferns. I don't want to find a dead body, but I always think it would be better to find it and alert the authorities, who can contact the family and end their agonizing over the Unknown.
4. Some people name packrat** tendencies "having a magpie mind." A magpie mind is poetic and evokes lovely images for me, but I can't claim to have one because I don't just collect the shiny. No, I'm more like the rat, packing things--any and everything--away for its someday potential. That is why I've decided to collect the dryer lint that no one else can be bothered to take from the machine.*** There are lots of things you can do with dryer lint. I may end up giving it to the birds, but at least I'll feel like I'm doing something useful with it, transforming my irritation at people's sloth into positive action.
* To date, I've seen not only expected things like gloves, hats, scarves, but a rubber boot, jackets, sweaters, socks, button-down shirt, pants, a skirt...
* Actually, packrats collect shiny stuff, too. :P
***I'm still appalled at how beastly people act when they are living in a community. I'm not the world's neatest person, but you can bet your bottom dollar that as soon as I'm part of a collective, I make an effort! Not so for a lot of the others residing here. I can't believe they are so thoughtless with their own property in their own homes; yet here, they feel free to leave things a mess and disregard anyone else's needs, comfort, or safety. Very bizarre.
Re: the music I was listening to while making this post, Soëlie started doing her bobbing baby dance when the Pearl Jam song came on. It took me back to the days when I was a little girl, sitting with my mom, grandmother, and eldest sister in said sister's room, listening to the version of Last Kiss by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers. I loved to cry to that song. In looking up a YouTube link, I found a Spanish version that reminded me of my first trip to Jaurez on a mission trip to an orphanage when I heard some then-popular USA song on the radio playing in Spanish. It opened my teenage mind to the way things cross borders--not just food!--and cultures appropriate and transform them for their own. And it is not just USA entertainment exported elsewhere. Did you know the Schwarzenegger film True Lies was a French film first? One without all the over-the-top effects. :P