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mapsedgeOver the weekend I found myself up in the attic yet again, moving a light fixture for our bedroom. To do the work I had to move some boxes out of the way, including a box that at one time had been used for shipping oranges. This box I knew well, as I'd been moving it out of my way for many many years.
It was a box of stuff my brother Mike had left at the house a long time ago. (Mike was killed July 4, 2003) In it were some effects from his days at the Naval Academy (circa, 1970), a couple of Kodak Instamatic film cartridges, the odd wall decoration.
Every time I'd see it, I'd think to myself, "I really ought to bring this down and ship it off to him."
I never did, and now I don't have to.
There are - or were - several boxes up there like that. Some were my mother's, full of Reader's Digest Condensed Books and large print editions, bags of plastic curlers, old cheap scarves, a plastic shower cap.
I never did, and now I don't have to.
A regret? Or a worry off the plate?
It's hard to say.
It was a box of stuff my brother Mike had left at the house a long time ago. (Mike was killed July 4, 2003) In it were some effects from his days at the Naval Academy (circa, 1970), a couple of Kodak Instamatic film cartridges, the odd wall decoration.
Every time I'd see it, I'd think to myself, "I really ought to bring this down and ship it off to him."
I never did, and now I don't have to.
There are - or were - several boxes up there like that. Some were my mother's, full of Reader's Digest Condensed Books and large print editions, bags of plastic curlers, old cheap scarves, a plastic shower cap.
I never did, and now I don't have to.
A regret? Or a worry off the plate?
It's hard to say.
