MINIATURE MIND OF MEG:  MICHELLE'S MUSEUM

​(The following story is about the miniature museum--the first floor of our new building.  For information on the trash museum, please review the "Queer Eye" material.)


​This is the story of the Miniature Museum . . .it is Michelle’s story. . .

This is a Christmas story. It is about two people who meet at the right time, and the right place. And it is about two cars who meet at exactly the wrong time, and exactly the wrong place. There are three things that you should know about this story. 1.) It is true. 2.) It is one of the sadder Christmas stories. And 3.) Its ending has yet to be determined.

"It is about two people who meet at the right time, and the right place." :  Michelle is my very good friend. I met her when I was coming out of a long, dark time and place in my life. Michelle is the kind of person folks like right away. She has the kind of smile and sparkle that got her elected Prom Queen. She is the kind of person who never leaves home without first saying a morning prayer. She is the kind of person who works on Christmas Day, so that other employees can spend the holiday with their families. She manages our local Blockbuster, and all the customers know her by her first name.

This particular Christmas is an exciting one for Michelle. An avid movie buff, she can hardly wait for the Christmas Eve opening of “Titanic.” A true lover of the Christmas holidays, she can hardly wait for a large and loving family Christmas. In fact, rather than staying at her friend’s house, after getting out of the late late show of “Titanic,” she instead drives home to pull an all-nighter, decorating the tree and the house for Christmas, for all of her nieces and nephews and cousins and siblings. It is Michelle’s job to play Santa.

I wasn’t in town on that particular Christmas. Michelle and I exchanged Season’s Greetings, then I flew to London to spend the season with my family.

When I return to Los Angeles, and realize that I have movies to return to Michelle’s Blockbuster, the bittersweet theme song from the movie “Titanic” is playing on the radio as I drive up to the store. “Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on. . .” I walk in and I smile when I see an “Employee of the Month” plaque, with Michelle’s picture on it. No surprise.
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But it is a terrible shock when I move in closer to read it, and realize that it is not an “Employee of the Month” plaque. I am stunned when I see the words engraved at the top: “IN MEMORIAM. . Died December 25th, 1997.”
Michelle’s parents received the grimmest news that any parent can receive, early that Christmas morning, on that sad December day of 1997. Instead of celebrating the holiday, they planned a funeral. Because as Michelle had been driving home in the early hours of Christmas Day, her car was rammed by a drunk driver running red lights.
Michelle died at the scene. The drunk driver got a year in jail.

TIME PASSES

​Nearly a year had gone by. It was coming up on Thanksgiving, and I could not wrap my mind around the fact that every Christmas for the rest of time would be grim, tainted, and tear-stained for Michelle’s large and loving family. And there was nothing I could do about it. . .except, I thought, make sure they know that people will never forget Michelle. I spent the next few days gathering angels from all over the neighborhood: standing angels, angel pins, ornaments, nightlights, calendars, candles, and on and on. The merchants were generous. They all remembered last year’s Christmas tragedy, and they did not want her to be forgotten either.

Then, on Christmas morning, I went to Michelle’s grave and placed all the angels there. Her family didn’t come for hours, after church and presents for the little ones. But when they did come to the cemetery, I saw their reactions and I knew I had done the right thing. Because the only thing worse than the tragedy of losing a loved one, is when everybody forgets.

But now I should explain what happened to me, back while I was collecting the angels. It is the day after Thanksgiving. I am standing in Michael’s Craft Store, looking for those angels. But what I see instead is a curious sight. A tiny metal shopping cart, smaller than a shoebox, but exactly like the real thing. The women around me squealed, “Wouldn’t that be darling for delivering Christmas cookies!” But I just stared at it, transfixed. “No,” I thought to myself . . . . . “It belongs to a teeny, tiny homeless person.”

I bought the shopping cart and went to work. First, the “owner” of the cart. I found a little Christmas caroler, part of a set, his mouth opened in an “O” shape, as he clutched his tiny carol book. I ripped the songbook from his hands, tattered his clothes, dirtied his face--and suddenly that “O” expression looked eerily like the madman in Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” Now all that was left was to fill MunchMan’s cart. And here were some choices, because where I live in Los Angeles, there is an odd, thick, and vibrant homeless population, their varied personalities reflected in the way they keep their carts: there are the newly displaced, with seemingly necessary items from home hastily jammed in the cart. Then there are the street savvy, organized ones—dog food there, human food here, case of toiletries, a boombox, panhandling sign, etc., with a roll of bedding stashed underneath. And finally, there are The Crazies. Odd signs about The End, always talking to themselves, carts filled with broken appliances, electronics, toys. I went for a mixture. I had tiny bags of recyclables hanging from the cart. I gave MunchMan a little dog, and real working Christmas lights to festoon that cart. That is a trick many homeless use in Los Angeles: Increases the donations. And maybe, just maybe, makes it feel a little less gloomy as the homeless spend holidays alone in the cold.

I took the MunchMan to one of those stores that rents an empty retail space and is only open through the Christmas holidays. They took quite a liking to the little guy, and put him in their store window. Everybody took a liking to the little man, in fact, and wanted to buy him. But I couldn’t bear to part with him. Why have him end up on a lone shelf in someone’s house, when he could be here, with the world seeing him—and reminding us that there are those forgotten souls who have no home or family to visit on Christmas Day.

That was the beginning. Then there were more scenes to be created, for those in danger of being forgotten. Time passed. Then came September 11th, 2001, and with it a whole new host of images to be captured—not through photography, which rocked the world in weeks to come—but in a tiny world of three dimensions, serving as a miniature reminder of those people, and those moments in time which we swore we would never forget.

And then we did.

In 9/11/2009, talk radio was replete with stories from students and parents, about attacks on the World Trade Center—and how many of their teachers didn’t even mention it! A teacher in L.A. blogged, “We don’t teach it in school, since it happened in New York and it didn’t really affect California.”

We say we won’t forget. And then we do. Who of us remembers the meaning of April 9th, or December 7th, or September 2nd? Or April 12th or April 30th or July 27th or November 11th? But a death is not the less a death for time having passed; a sacrifice is no less a sacrifice just because it happened years, or decades, or even centuries ago. In the words of the poet John Donne, “Each man’s death diminishes me . . . . . For I am involved in Mankind.”

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 And so that is the story of this humble attic museum. That is Michelle’s story, and my story. That curious, odd miniature shopping cart, the little homeless MunchMan, and that Angel on my shoulder, they all changed my life. They were the beginning of Michelle’s Museum.   Michelle loved Christmas, and she would have loved the idea that the spirit of Christmas lives in our museum year round:  to that end, we will have a tree up all year--changing with the seasons, changing with the holidays, but always, always spreading Christmas cheer, every day of the year.

Oh, and don’t be surprised if you find a bit of Christmas hiding in these wee dollhouses. There are trees and toys, gifts and surprises for family, milk and cookies for Santa. For as long as it is always Christmas Eve in Michelle’s Attic, she is still alive and smiling. . .Visions of Sugarplums still dance in the hearts of children everywhere. . .and there is still hope for Peace on Earth.