I was going to put this up on Ebay today. It is just taking up space, and I haven't opened since the day I bought it, so I figure it's a non-essential. Except that it holds sentimental value for me. The scent that wafts from this box when it's opened is like having a door to another time in my life swinging wide, beckoning me to come inside.
My maternal grandmother is in there, so are my older cousins with their giggles and Mystery Date Game, and the little two-bedroom house on 9th Street is in there too. And the mulberry tree, the tire swing, the dusty dirt driveway, the almond tree hanging over the doghouse, black patent leather shoes, the scent of old wood in the garage, black widow spiders weaving their webs inside the fuse box, Smokey the Bear, pageboy haircuts, boysenberry cobbler, scraped knees and stubbed toes.
I can't sell all that.