I walked right by the old chest dozens of times over the years. Most likely it had things stacked on top of it and I never realized what was holding up all the stacks of magazines and old boxes. About a year ago, my father-in-law had a stroke and while he was recuperating in a rehab facility, Howard and I went to the basement of Howard’s childhood home in NE Portland. We’d been downstairs many times over the past forty years, but usually just to drop some stuff off for storage. This time, the chest caught my eye, probably because there was nothing stacked on top of it. I lifted the lid and my breath caught; it was filled with things Howard’s mom had saved. Janet passed away 13 years ago, but even all the years she was alive, we never realized she had saved her treasures in this old trunk. I didn’t pull much out, other than a few things on the top, but quickly realized this was an excavation to be savored.
Several months ago when our adult kids were home, we visited Grandpa Tom. I pulled Howard aside and said, “I’d sure like to get that old chest loaded into the car while we have healthy backs to help carry it up the stairs.” Howard told his dad we were taking the chest and lickety split it was in the car. We got it home and put it in the garage. For some reason I didn’t immediately tear into it. I wanted to wait for the right time, when I could enjoy the process of peeling back the layers.
That day happened a couple months ago when my friend Tory had dropped me off after one of our outings. She knew I had the chest, she wasn’t in a hurry, and it felt like the right time. We slowly began to remove the pieces that were important to Janet. A wedding dress that belonged to Janet’s mother, bundles of letters, an old shower curtain(!), baby outfits, photographs, newspaper clippings . . . . the detritus of a life well-lived.
As we neared the bottom of the chest, I spied a pair of eyes peeking out of loosely bound tissue paper. Could it be? Janet’s childhood doll? I could barely contain myself. I was so excited, I just climbed right into the chest and unwrapped the doll. She was stuffed with straw and had no hair and marked the perfect ending to a chest full of clues of how Janet lived and loved.
Later, after leisurely going through the stacks of ephemera, Howard pulled out what he wanted to keep and I took what was left to my art studio at Mission Mill to use in my mixed media project, What’s Your Story: Real or Imagined.
