In a continuing effort to downsize, I now turn my attention to the record collection. Without a working stereo in the house, it is “low hanging fruit” for this project. And I’ve discovered something I’d forgotten about my early habits, because when pulling records out there are often little mementos tucked away in there. It can be surprising what I find. 

For example, an unopened letter with an uncashed check from my grandmother, sent for my birthday in ‘75. I could just hear her voice as I read through the chatty note about happenings back home. The check is for $20, which was a lot back then. I doubt I ever thanked her.

Other finds include clippings from old newspapers and magazines. Many of the articles are tucked in The Beatles’ albums and the paper they were printed on is yellow, brittle. There are also random tickets, mostly to my brothers’ high school sporting events, while some are from community dances with local bands, like “Ed Wool and the Nomads,” or “Maximus.” 

Drawings for imaginative album covers, and lyrics to my own early songs, tumble out of the records, too. Usually on blue-lined notebook paper. That is why, when a torn piece of brown paper bag dropped out of America’s record, the one with “Horse with No Name,” it was clearly something different.

There was a faint message on the bag, written in pencil, “Here is the album you asked me to return. I would like to have my ring back, Rusty.” 

The words jumped off the page as I read them, seemingly for the first time. A break-up letter from my first steady boyfriend. That I have no memory of ever seeing. There were a few cross-outs on the page and turning it over there was the same message, written more neatly, on the back. 

Clearly, he meant it. Was it possible I never played the record again, not finding the note until now? Yes, the album came out in early ‘72, and before that summer we had already drifted apart. 

I do remember giving the ring back, though. He called to say he was coming over to get it so before he arrived I took the ring off and unwound the thick blue yarn I’d added to hold it on my finger. Underneath, my skin where I had worn the huge class ring for months was shriveled and pale. Did I think at the time it would be better not only for my finger, but for me as a person, not to wear his ring? Probably not. But it would have made a great premise for a song.