The Last Box

It's been 11 years since I packed up my house on Valentine Road and started off on a new path. It's been nine years since I landed in this house, about six since the remodeling project was essentially completed and I went through everything I'd tucked away and decided that the items within the stash of remaining boxes still fit in my life, or not.

OK. I went through ALMOST everything, but there was this one box. It contained assorted odds and ends from a small set of shelves that had been tucked into the corner of a seldom-used closet in the old house. I didn't ignore the box. Every so often, I'd open the flaps, take a look inside, be unable to decide what to do with the contents, then promptly close the flaps so I could tackle it another day.

This past week, I decided the time had come to empty the box for once and for all. Its contents certainly weren't doing anyone any good by living in the back of yet another closet. So, I opened it one last time and spread the contents across a bed.

It was a true box of treasures, complete with a stash of fifty cent pieces and a two dollar bill. There was a girl-shaped piggy bank I got for Christmas back in the early seventies, a true classic, but with its paint chipping off across the back. There were two Barbie dolls, along with several outfits (?). My calendars from 1982 - 1984, along with a letter from Mary B (one of my best friends then and now),  briefly put me in touch with my just-finishing-college shelf. 

I found the lacy blue shawl I wore to prom. I'd stashed the yearbook from my senior year in high school, a smattering of school pictures from my then-friends, and a random notebook from some class. There was a bowl that Libby made for me in her pottery phase of life, a small basket Joe made for me at Scout camp, and the guest register from my mother's funeral. 

I reread a letter from my dad with tears in my eyes. The pages didn't contain any news of import, but in the words he'd written, I could hear his voice echoing across the years.

Nope, I'm not surprised I've never emptied the box. I've wandered far from my roots, and to be able to physically touch these pieces of my past unearths dusty, but valuable, memories of my younger self - no small gift.

I put the bowl in the kitchen where it will get used, and will find the Barbies another home. The yearbook, letters, and photos went with the other papers I've saved over the years. I took one more photo of the shawl and the piggy bank, thanked them for the memories, then gently added them to the trash bin - the days where they could be handled without falling apart are past.

It feels good to have that box emptied, its contents properly dispersed. I think it's all a part of moving on from this liminal space I've hung out in for too long now - I feel both anchored and free.

Onward!