So it took me awhile to find an (extra)ordinary object.  I'm not really sure why, I'm a hoarder of nostalgia and junk in fact I have a whole shelf in my office devoted to items I've collected.  Right now i'm looking at some Philippine pray beads that I was badgered into buying in front of a 16th century church in the intramuros district of Manila.  But they don't really seem like an extraordinary object to me, like everything else on that shelf the beads are just another collected memory.  But finally, this morning as I was walking through my kitchen avoiding the stack of books on my desk I found the object I've been looking for. My object is a 7 year old single cup Italian coffee percolator. 

When I read [the call for object stories], I was excited by the opportunity to participate in some creative endeavor or at least to contribute to one.  Then I thought about the specific request and it called forth longheld fears about my relationships to objects.  Objects are one of many things that I'm decidedly meta about.  For as long as I can remember I have always looked for the perfect souvenir and have hoarded all manner of material items because they held some meaning.  And yet, when I think about it, I always feel like I have chosen the wrong things to keep and to discard.  Further, I often feel guilty for not loving or cherishing the things that hold meaning and/or memory.  What I've decided to tell you about for this project is an object that both exemplifies and disrupts that pattern.

A book.  Letters to a Young Poet, by Rilke. It was old, the cover torn,  and worn on the edges. Small.  Paperback.  A dark purple with yellow text on the front.  The pages dyed an "aged yellow"- the text bold.  it was soft and flexible in the hand.  a few pages in the center were loose from the binding.  

In the year 2000, my good friend, Emily, convinced me one afternoon that we should apply to study abroad in France.  It was not a well-thought-through plan, but we decided, what the hell; we were seventeen; we would throw caution to the wind. 

We were both accepted to a cultural exchange program in northwest France. 

I suspect that we were going for different reasons: Emily wanted to learn French (we’d been taking it for four years, but it had trouble sticking to Em for some reason); and I wanted to get the fuck out.

My object is a very old Gerber Baby Food Jar, with mashed peas listed on the label.  But it's filled with grey ash.  The label is pealing off and the lid of the jar is gold colored metal.  The label is blue colored with white writing on it.  It's got an expiration date in 1980.  It's about half way filled with the grey ash and half with air.  I now keep it stored on a decorative shelf in my apartment.  I pick it up now and then to look at it and show other people.