While in the library last week researching polar bears and leopards for yet another school project, I realized the serendipitous benefits of browsing a library. K had previously taken a book out by a Newberry Medal winning author. I decided to find the book that the author had won the award for. Having found it, I opened the book at random and read:
In my closet are two boxes,
the gatherings of my life,
a broken hairpin,
a dress from my baby days,
my first lock of hair,
a tiny basket woven from prairie grass,
a doll with a china head,
a pink ball,
three dozen marbles,
a fan from Baxter’s Funeral Home,
my baby teeth in a glass jar,
a torn map of the world,
two candy wrappers,
a thousand things I haven’t looked at in years.
I kept promising to go through the boxes with Ma
and get rid of what I didn’t need,
but I never got to it
and now my hands hurt.
And I haven’t got the heart.
And just like that I was hooked on [amazon_link id=”0590371258″ target=”_blank” ]Out of the Dust[/amazon_link] by Karen Hesse. The book did not disappoint. It was a quick read but not an easy one as I worked through my lingering feelings of grief and better understood those of my children.
One response to “Boxes”
My mother never allowed us to keep things that were part of our past…she was a “clean-ee” who couldn’t abide mess for too long. My personal things often were thrown out without my knowledge or permission.
As a result I hid a few things. I have a few small boxes and chests that hold objects that may or may not have any real value but they are precious reminders of a part of my life far past and almost gone from memory.
The connection is important…though we should not, can not live in the past, we should never deny it.
I am interested to read more from the author you mention.