Ha! Ha! Oh, those boxes from moves in the past that never get completely unpacked.
One appeared from at least two moves ago; it is shoe box-sized and lovingly addressed in my mother's handwriting. It once contained sweet nothings sent from afar, when I was living far from afar. Yesterday it contained: broken headphones, three dry erase markers, two dry eraseboard erasers, two magnetic photo frames (new), a headband (silver, circa 2000), a receipt from Capetown (circa 2006), several cabinet wheels, etc etc etc. Kind of junk. Kind of sentimental stuff. But it was full and it was time to be emptied.
Remarkably, everything inside actually has a place. Elsewhere. The markers go with, well, the other markers. The broken headphones go in the drawer with other things-attached-to-wires (the decision to fix vs donate vs toss is for another day). Some things will be donated. Etcetera. It took 15 minutes. Three or five years of things lovingly tucked away were so easily redistributed. There is now a shoe box-sized empty space under my bed. Lovely. A baby step, but lovely nonetheless.
I've been reading David Foster Wallace's collection of essays, Consider the Lobster. His mind, my goodness, his mind is so precise and funny. I'm rethinking all I know about John McCain and English-language dictionaries (to be specific, based on what I've read today). Gentle-witty prodding to rethink is such a beautiful, beautiful thing.