How Much Pink Can One Accumulate?

By Betty – April, 2010

How many pink drawers can one have?  How much forgotten is waiting to be found?  How many surprises will there be – things that were happy or fun or stupid or sad?

The answer, my friends, is to sort through the pink.

Write down each memory as you explore – you’ll forget if you don’t write it as you go.

Repack the junk.

Label the boxes – reuse, recycle, give away, save for the family heirs! Toss!

You’ll have fun, your drawer will be junk-free for a while, and you’ll be smiling – remembering, and maybe wishing!

One drawer in the desk had carefully packed in plastic, cans of rubber bands, one of thumbtacks, staples, paper clips, pencils, and dried-up pens.

At the bottom, in the back, there were two heavy paperweights. One was a crystal with a crystal rabbit inside – a souvenir of our first and last pet rabbit, Peter. He traveled daily with me to school where most attention deficit children read him stories, explained pictures, and showed him how to do math.

The second paperweight was a heavy granite plaque with a copper medal honoring my Dad, the 16 year-old boy who left the farm with only one bag, found a job, went to night-school, became a vice president of the local bank.

Then there were three staplers that no longer worked, scotch tape – dried out and useless, a small box of small knives, one with an ivory handle from Alaska – dog sled carved on each side.

Last, four round tubes with covers – one filled with pennies, one of nickels, one of dimes, and one a collection of State quarters. In the bottom of one was a lonely real gold coin, a long-ago gift from my father.

There were three small magnifying glasses – scratched, useless perhaps. Two small red and white Christmas stockings for our dogs – hung every year on the fireplace, filled with small treats – a bit worse for wear, but still precious, filled with Christmas long past. An envelope filled with dated bills – all marked paid in full. My first red wallet was squashed in between small boxes – red, falling apart, empty. A wee five-car train with no track was scattered about where there was room. A long, small thermometer, a long pencil-like flashlight that worked – how could that be?

In case you haven’t guessed or thought “no more, please,” I did not get much done except to dream of how it was. Best of all, perhaps, was a package for Jim: paper clips!

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