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The secret lives of things

By S.K. Bardwell
Posted Monday, November 6, 2006

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I’ve always been an anthropomorphizer.

I name vehicles: My current car is Ruby. I still remember the names of dear, departed vehicles (Ginger, the 1967 Cougar XR7) and some that were not so dear (Chuck, the Jeep on whose doorsill I knocked my head at least twice a day, every day, for more than a year. Explains some things, doesn’t it?)

I talk to appliances: “Come on, baby, you can do it, I know you can do it,” or “You wretched piece of crap, do it now or so help me, I’ll saw your little metal legs off.”

The thing is, appliances with which you spend a lot of time do seem to have their own personalities. My iBook is quick and witty; the speakers I have hooked up to it suffer violent mood swings. Ascribing human traits to things makes it easier for me to deal with them.

I wonder if ascribing the traits of inanimate objects to some people would make them easier to deal with. It’s an interesting idea. Now that I think about it, I once had an editor who shared a number of characteristics with a crockpot.

Gifts started this train of thought. It’s the time of year when I purchase several Christmas gifts and a birthday gift, because son Eric has the misfortune of a Christmas-time birthday.

One of the gifts was an MP3 player whose delivery the manufacturer insists be signed for. Anyone who has ever missed a signature-required delivery know why I’ll be anxious until the thing arrives. This morning I went to a site where the MP3 player’s progress can be tracked. Now I’m a little jealous.

The thing started out from Suzhou, China, a lovely place I doubt I’ll ever get to see. From there it traveled to Anchorage, Alaska. That’s a more manageable trip, but one I doubt I’ll ever make.

Next, the MP3 went to Indianapolis. Who knows where it will go next before it gets here? I’ve been flown to Atlanta on my way to San Diego, and to Chicago on my way to Washington, D.C. Flying is like life: Sometimes the route you take has little to do with where you’re going.

I buy a lot of yarn, to feed my insatiable knitting addiction. It comes from the Andes, from the Himalayas, from the Rockies, from Canada and Australia, Scotland and Ireland and Japan. It could probably tell a lot of stories.

But the drawback to anthropomorphizing is, you don’t get a lot of answers. Besides, yarn is notoriously hard to talk to.

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