Seven Treasures, Part 4: guest post by Tobin Elliott

Read the Introduction to this series.

TOBIN ELLIOTT is the author of Vanishing Hope, a horror novella published through Burning Effigy Press, with the novel-length follow-up, No Hope, to follow in early 2013. He will also have a short story, “Stealing Corey,” included in the upcoming WCDR anthology Whispered Words, as well as an e-book, Soft Kiss, Hard Death, the third Sam Truman mystery, published July 1. You can follow the rants and adventures of Tobin at his blog, http://tobin.elliott.wordpress.com

Here are my seven treasures … but I’m going to start this by saying I may be cheating slightly with some of my answers, because there are multiples included — but hey, you don’t want to mess with me. I’m the horror guy.

1.

There’s a picture of my wife, Karen, and me, long before we were married. We’re at Niagara Falls on the first vacation we took together, back around 1990. We’re young, we’re having fun, and our whole future’s ahead of us. The camera captures Karen in one of her zany moods. She has, in fact, just dowsed my head with the water from the hood of the ridiculous rain slickers we’d both worn when we walked under the falls. I’d refused to put mine up and it collected a prodigious amount of water. This snapshot captures our personalities and our possibilities like no other picture ever has. Every time I see it, I fall in love with Karen all over again.

2.

An old battered copy of My African Notebook by Albert Schweitzer. It’s autographed by Schweitzer and says, “à Mr Higgins avec mes bonnes pensées [with my best wishes, or maybe, fondest regards], Albert Schweitzer, Lambarene, 4 juillet 1962.” Signed three months before I was born, the book is one of the few things I own of my father’s. He travelled all over the world and saw the most amazing things and met fascinating people — yet the most important thing in his life was contained in a bottle. He was a brilliant man who let his insecurities get in the way of living. This one’s a reminder to not take anything for granted.

3.

This one I hesitate to count as a treasure, however in a way it is. It’s an old cross, a fearsome thing really — about four inches long and made of some heavy metal, like cast iron — that my grandmother gave to my father. When my father died, it came through my brother to me. I have a lot of horrible memories of my brother’s drug use, his broken marriages, his abandoned children. The same with my father, though with alcohol instead of drugs and fewer abandoned kids. Same damage though. Then some doozies from my stepfather, including a line I’ll never forget. He once told me he’d “pissed on better than me.” All three were men I had looked up to. Each one completely failed me, and in two cases, they abandoned me. Later I chose to abandon my brother. So why do I treasure the cross that spurs these memories? Because it tells me how not to live my life, how not to treat others, how by doing the complete opposite, I can try to be a better person than they were.

4.

The first copy of the first book I ever got published. I write because I have to, to make sense of the world and the demons that sometimes inhabit it. Seeing this book, this material thing that came from my head and onto the page, and now has my name on the cover, and knowing someone had enough faith in my writing to put it out in the world … that’s an amazing and scary feeling. This treasure speaks to following your dreams, no matter how long they take to come true.

 

 

 

 

5.

Two faded ultrasound printouts showing fuzzy black and white blobs. I always smile when I see them because they bring back memories of the births of both my kids. They were defining moments in my life. I may never have been more terrified and more deliriously happy than I was watching my two kids come into the world. Both of them took their time, and both were so incredible once they arrived. I was thirty by the time our first came along, but never before had I truly felt the weight of responsibility. These fuzzy blobs speak to life being bigger than me, and not all about me. It’s about giving more than receiving, then receiving more than I could have imagined in return.

6.

For a few years in my mid-forties, Ryan gave me a different Beatle cartoon figurine each birthday and Christmas. I have a ton of them now. Four Beatles from the animated series on their own stage, as though playing in a concert, the four main Beatles characters from the Yellow Sub movie, and their counterparts playing the Sgt. Pepper’s instruments, as well as sundry additional figurines, such as the Blue Meanie, the four-headed dog, etc. I’ve known Ryan for sixteen years this August and he’s not a fan of the Beatles, but he’s my best friend. He and his wife have hosted us at their place, fed us and entertained us more than we can every repay. But more than that, I have never laughed harder, longer or more often than when we’re together. He’s easily the funniest person I’ve ever met. I don’t tell him enough how much he’s made a difference in my life. These figurines are about the importance of friends, and not only having your differences, but celebrating them.

7.

My wedding ring. As sentimental as this sounds, this small, very simple band of gold, now a little scratched and already resized once, reminds me every day of what I have. There may have been times when I took that for granted, but overall, in the twenty-one years that this ring has been on my finger, I’ve learned a lot about life, a lot about myself, and a lot about this woman who so long ago stood beside me in a zany picture. All these years later, there’s still so much possibility. I never want to forget that, and this ring reminds me, every time I look at it, to enjoy the journey.

Editor’s Note: I promised Tobin I’d post his Seven Treasures today for a special reason. Happy anniversary, Tobin and Karen. ~ Allyson