Something Updike Might Imagine…

The task of locating a specific cardboard box in our basement initially felt laborious but it was easier than anticipated. Memories and cherished items had long been packed away. Stored with them, my youth. I was curious as to why some items were saved in the first place but apparently, they must have meant something in the moment.

My adult children will not recognize the significance of most of the items and may not even remember the why’s of our collection. My great grandmother’s journey from Ireland through Canada and settling in Massachusetts while carrying two small antique statues. Do family heirlooms still hold import? How much heritage to we want carry from place to place? Generation to generation? I hardly knew the details of her long journey. How can I expect my children to embrace the treasures?

The box in question was a recent addition to our storage area but it had already blended into anonymity with the rest of the tan square stash. Upwards of 20 boxes were neatly stacked along a foundation wall. As the top of the selected box opened a flood of yesterday floated up.

Jon and I were in search of a small pair of retro music speakers for our son, Daniel. He and his wife Emily were visiting this past weekend to see my exhibit at the Howe Library. Hanover, NH. Dan was interested in using them in their home. Our vinyl albums were also of interest but…