Treasure chest

All my life, I've kept a treasure chest.  I still have my original cool little wooden box from my childhood, filled with my then-precious things.  It was originally a stationery box that my mom gave me when I was around 4 or 5 years old; a hinged box actually shaped like a treasure chest, with curved top and a ship painted on top.  It isn't very big -- about the size of a load of bread -- but it was a perfect size for the little treasures of a little girl.  A tiny Disney figurine. A special seashell. My Oscar Meyer wiener whistle (really). A carved wooden bear. And so many other things I can't remember right now. It's not a big box, but it's very big box to me.

That's my original treasure chest, tucked away somewhere in the basement.  Of all the stuff I plan to tidy up down there this year, that chest is one thing that I'm really looking forward to finding again. It will be the reward for that huge tidying up task.

But in the meantime, almost without meaning to, I've added another box over the years, and it's become my current treasure chest.  This box is bigger.  It's not huge ... around the size of a picnic basket, but shaped like a small steamer trunk. Its contents are from about the past 30 years or so. (Yikes, I'm getting old.)  It lives on the top shelf of my closet.  I went through that chest this past week, looking through all its treasures.  A pretty key chain.  A shiny, flower-shaped magnet. A silver yo-yo.  An embroidered coin purse. And much more. Most of the things in that box still have specific memories attached to them, like the string of worry beads from Greece given to me by an old boyfriend, or the tiny painted box filled with potpourri from an old friend, or that little metal rabbit charm from my dad. But a lot of the treasures don't have memories, they have only special feelings. Why does that pencil with a tube of pebbles on top make me happy?  Why does the miniature padlock feel so special? Why do I care about that round metal mirror? Somewhere inside of me, all of these things mean - or meant - something.

Yes, I got rid of some of the contents of the box during my tidying.  Things never belonged there, or whose meaning has drained away.  Somewhere along the line some of the treasures turned into flotsam and jetsam that I don't need. But the things that are left now have room to breathe, and the box is still quite full. None of these little items represent huge, milestone moments in my life. They're small objects, with small memories and faint feelings.  And maybe that's the point.  Taken one at a time, they're no big deal.  But taken together, they comprise many of the moments, feelings, and occasions that are making up my life and have made me happy.  I guess life really is lived in the small moments. Perhaps I should focus more on those from now on.