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Sometimes The Muses (or somebody like them) inchoates an interesting idea into my incus at time inconvenient that I UI write them down as ‘drafts” for future entries. More often than not when I have time to examine them they look like mumbo-jumbo and I can’t make heads or tails what I was thinking. The older ones are worse than the new ones. One of them had the words:

special containers

The mind boggles what was behind this tid-bit. I telephoned The Muses to ask but it went immediately to voicemail. I consulted The Fates but they weren’t helpful either. They gave me Cassandra-like advice said in indirect words about matters too far off in the future.* So, I am on my own to see what I can make out of ‘special container’.

La Casa de Spo does not lack for containers, especially if one lumps into the definition boxes, Tupperware, and those little souvenir knick-knacks scattered throughout the house. The Cup Sprites and The Car Key Gnomes often move the latter about when they have nothing else to do.

The home office has some nice ones, so let us start there. On the shelf at eye level is a small round container with a hinged lid, woven with some sort of straw. In it are several coins from out-of-the-country trips. There are also a few subway tokens, possibly from Chicago or NYC. One brass join has a rat on it; I think is it a Chuck-e-cheese coin, a place I have never entered.

Next to it, similar in size and shape, is a metal container with a Pacific Northwest Native American design on its take-away cover. It contains several irregular-shaped polished stones of hematite, malachite, and lapis.

An oblong ceramic box with two fishes on its cover contains headphone earbuds for devices we no longer use. I gave the box to Someone when I was courting him in Key West. I later found out my error he is not a Pisces but a Sagittarius.** The dear keeps it anyway although I suspect neither one of us really cares for it.

Going down the hallway….

On top of the black wooden cupboard in the hallway leading to the bedroom rests a rectangular box, tessellated with black and tan stones. Inside is a hodge-podge collection of glass ashtrays (if we have smokers over***), and the faded yellow rose boutonnieres from our marriage, and whatever Christmas ornaments we bought in the year that wait to come out/go up on Christmas tree 2021. One is a glass Krampus who stares at me from his plastic container whenever I open the lid to look in on him.

In the walk-in closet on my dresser are several boxes of various types and sizes. They are piled up on each other like a collection of small hatboxes. They have the following:

My watch collection, including my first I received from my grandfather. I no longer wear them due to the Fitbit.

Various necklaces and bracelet bits I mean to someday repair/restring.

A collection of necktie pins that were my grandfather’s, along with a few Rings of Power that once worn, make me Master of the World, provided I renounce Love, or Gummi bears, I forget which.***

As I write this, I realize these containers and others like them have in common they are small boxes of which I am found of seeing and opening that I may look into them at objects useless yet precious enough not to discard. In a way they are like graves. If that is too morbid for you, maybe the simile of Mother’s jewelry box works better. We kids would snoop inside the containers on her dresser and gaze at the collection of costume jewelry that we never saw her wear and wonder why on earth she kept it all. Now I know.

*They do that.

**I like Sagittarians; you can trust them.

***Fat chance of that.

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