2014 is going to be the year Odin streamlines his life. The year he throws old crap away.
Like all his t-shirts with clever sayings on them.
Or not — his kids might want those, so he’ll hang onto them.
But his workshop, all this junk! And on top of that, the new beer making kit he got for Christmas. And not even counting the wet plate camera he hasn’t bought yet. Where to start?
Odin is sitting in the attic, telling his wife what’s in boxes so she can inventorize what they have in their attic prior to throwing stuff out. Odin is like, why not just throw it out and save a step. And he is also like, old magazines in this box. Painting canvases. Some sort of plumbing fixtures. Travel case for a harp.
In another universe, Odin has a temporary job taking inventory for some company. He is standing in front of a wall of televisions in a shop, counting them. The Space Shuttle takes off and then explodes. Odin sees two dozen images of debris angling through the sky, leaving a white trail.
Odin and his wife are doing pretty good in the cellar. They donate a lot of old clothes. Then, this box: ballerina duds. A princess dress. Like that.
A little red hat.
There is another universe, 20 years ago, it is the carneval season, children are being led through games at a public carneval party in the city hall.
About 20 years ago. Or only 12 — Odin gets his universes mixed up. It would depend which daughter, Thor or Loki.
Through the blue haze of all the smoking mommies, Odin can see her, in her red hat, covered in confetti, wearing the red hat, dancing.
There was also a lady bug costume, he finds the hat to that one too.
Odin remembers a lady bug dancing, spinning in circles.
Odin and his wife box the red hat back up.
Today is the first work day of 2014. It is quiet out. Odin is not hungry at lunch time but he wants to check on the crows.
Odin strolls to the store. It is warm for the second day of January. The small grey crow swoops down and accompanies Odin to the store, where he gets peanuts and a curry chicken sandwich.
He sits on the bench and all three crows are there waiting.
It is such a quiet day, like the end of the world. Like the world could still decide 2013 was the final year.
The four of them eat sandwich, they eat peanuts.
What say the slain?
I dreamt someone on a motorcycle whipped my leg with a strap and captured me, I was balanced on the handlebars and gathered myself and kicked them to get away, and woke myself up kicking in bed. I asked the dream what it was and it said, what supports us binds us. It said, love. It said, vitality. It said, escape.
What say the hanged?
Memory is not carved in stone after all. It is reinvented all the time. It is stories you tell yourself, and you know how reliable stories are. You find a little red hat and make something up, because you know who wore it, and you know how much you love her.
May we always remember.