even boxes tell a story

We tried to cast only cursory glances at the items in the boxes in the boidem. Any attempt to truly take a look at what was there would undoubtedly cost us precious time. The best policy was to throw away first and think later. Of course some (okay, I admit it - many) items caught my eye. That was unavoidable. But if Koheleth was right, and there's a time for every purpose, it was clear that the purpose at hand wasn't saving.

Although often a cursory glance was enough to determine whether a particular box merited further investigation, sometimes even looking inside wasn't called for: the significance of some items was clear simply from seeing the box, because what was significant was the box itself. I don't remember what we found inside this lemon crate, but that wasn't important. History, memories and additional associative stories were an integral part of the container. When we took it down from the boidem our neighbor excitedly explained to one of her daughters (who probably had never seen a crate like this) how years ago we would use crates of this sort for packing the food we would take on trips, using them for bonfires when their contents had been emptied.

I recall that well, but I also recall stories from an earlier time and a very different place. My parents often told the story of how they used crates very similar to these as bookshelves in the apartments we lived in when we were much, much younger (and considerably poorer as well). That particular memory isn't mine, though I suppose that I've heard it enough times to make me feel that I actually remember it. But whether or not it's a real memory of mine doesn't matter. I can still continue to transmit it. And finding a box of this sort offers me the opportunity to do just that.

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