I opened a blue box tied with burgundy string. The storage unit had housed for 5 years many things we could not take with us or sort through before moving for a new job. What had I saved? It must have been something I had put away years before the move itself.
Such funny little cards, made so long ago...I also found a small packet of letters that I wrote to my grandmother. I won't look at them now. But I will. She saved them, then I saved them.
A little box of treasures...worth nothing and everything. Before the children were making cards and pictures, the box received missives sent to them from loved ones long gone now...dear familiar handwriting sending love to new babies and with little checks enclosed, I am sure.
This last weekend I received beautiful cards...one that traveled across the sea and got here just in time for Mother's Day. Handmade with handpicked flowers from the alps...yes, I got the message. And another card from the southern boundaries of our land with a thoughtful note and photographs from some of the days memorialized in the old blue box. What is it that causes us to write the words that say what is already known? Shaping and sharing our thoughts and feelings that they may for a time travel and have the weight of matter? I see how this box came to be; how could I toss these artful little love packets away.
Ephemera only and yet ...