Blythe Woolston

I dare myself to know what I keep in this binder.

I've been thinking about cataloguing (button sorting).

You can lose seven whale skeletons in the space between the external and interior rotundas of a museum. It's been done.

Darwin's specimens got lost in a cupboard. Hooker was absent minded and forgot to label them for what they were, for whatever reason. Let's choose to believe he couldn't resist the Himilayas.

At least that's how I remember it, and that's the point of this entire story: I have a terrible memory.

Things get lost. And found. *

* Note to myself: This notebook is on the red book truck.