Buried Treasure
Leaving is hard, being left behind is not much better. However packing all of your belongings to be given away, donated to a charity is one of the hardest things that I have had to do. Going through boxes one by one, taking hours just to determine what is to be kept, given or thrown away because no one else but me would want it or understand the deep meaning behind it. I couldn’t hold on to it because there is just was not that much room in my car.
I won’t say that I don’t miss my stuff, because that would be a lie. I miss my big, fluffy, comfy bed and the sheets that took me all of one Saturday to find. They were lovely, pink gingum, Ralph Lauren, 1000 count soft cotton sheets. I miss my bed and sheets most of all out of all the stuff that is no longer mine. What I did keep are items that are most precious to me and those things that I felt that I could not go on without. Boxed up and put into storage, until I could find an apartment of my own. It took a lot longer then I thought it would. I stayed with friends and my boyfriend for three months before I found my current home. And even though I have been in my home for over a month now my precious items have remained boxed up. That is until today.
A personal project of literary origin, for a class that had reignited my love of writing, was the prey that I was hunting for. A descriptive narrative about a man in the military and the woman who loved him but could never really have him. A masterpiece it could have been, written for my English 101 class five years ago. The professor, who I have kept in touch with, has reminded me on several occasions to write more of it. But alas my poor Nicole will have to keep waiting for more because now I can not find the damn thing. I have searched in every box in every corner of my small but roomy one bedroom apartment.
At first my search was feverish, tossing things over my head. Not caring in what direction they flew, until I came across a stack of pictures these I decided not to pitch over me. I hadn’t seen these in a while and even when I was packing them away I hadn’t taken the time to look at them. I started to look through them; the first picture was of my father in Oregon. A memory of the first time that I had met him in my adult years, I started to remember how cold it was and how amazed I was to still find snow on a mountain in June. Then another picture took me back to when I was sixteen and asked Zach Brown to the Sadie Hawkins dance. It was the bravest thing that I did that year. I was so happy and a bit surprised that he said yes. I found some photos of me and my grandfather; he had passed away in 1993 just a few months after one of the pictures was taken.
Before I knew it I had spent an hour just looking thru this box. I told myself that I couldn’t do that again and went on to the next one. I didn’t find was I was looking for but I did find my knit hat that I had bought at the renaissance festival after the first weekend that I had worked there. It was my reward for all the hard work that I had done. Also in the same box was my bottle of love potion #9 from the Marie Lavoe’s museum in New Orleans. I found some CDs that I had liberated from an ex boyfriend. Yet still no paper to be seen. When I realized that I hadn’t found it yet I was a little miffed. And then I found the box that it just had to be in.
My box of bad poetry from my teenage years, I stared to glance through all of the drippy dark and depressing things that were running rampant through my teenage years. I chuckled a bit and shook my head at it. Never will I ever through it away, it was my therapy, my right as a hormonal adolescent. I flipped through every piece of paper and still no story. I guess it wasn’t meant to be found yet. Perhaps it will when it is time for me to finish the story. Or possibly it is finished, perfect in the form that I left it in five years prior.
I looked over my now messy apartment and felt peaceful with my logic, knowing that it was just not the right time. I have however found so many other treasures that I will take pleasure in. I have not a moral for my story or a real conclusion, just a new found love of the things that I kept and a final goodbye to the things that I have passed on.
I won’t say that I don’t miss my stuff, because that would be a lie. I miss my big, fluffy, comfy bed and the sheets that took me all of one Saturday to find. They were lovely, pink gingum, Ralph Lauren, 1000 count soft cotton sheets. I miss my bed and sheets most of all out of all the stuff that is no longer mine. What I did keep are items that are most precious to me and those things that I felt that I could not go on without. Boxed up and put into storage, until I could find an apartment of my own. It took a lot longer then I thought it would. I stayed with friends and my boyfriend for three months before I found my current home. And even though I have been in my home for over a month now my precious items have remained boxed up. That is until today.
A personal project of literary origin, for a class that had reignited my love of writing, was the prey that I was hunting for. A descriptive narrative about a man in the military and the woman who loved him but could never really have him. A masterpiece it could have been, written for my English 101 class five years ago. The professor, who I have kept in touch with, has reminded me on several occasions to write more of it. But alas my poor Nicole will have to keep waiting for more because now I can not find the damn thing. I have searched in every box in every corner of my small but roomy one bedroom apartment.
At first my search was feverish, tossing things over my head. Not caring in what direction they flew, until I came across a stack of pictures these I decided not to pitch over me. I hadn’t seen these in a while and even when I was packing them away I hadn’t taken the time to look at them. I started to look through them; the first picture was of my father in Oregon. A memory of the first time that I had met him in my adult years, I started to remember how cold it was and how amazed I was to still find snow on a mountain in June. Then another picture took me back to when I was sixteen and asked Zach Brown to the Sadie Hawkins dance. It was the bravest thing that I did that year. I was so happy and a bit surprised that he said yes. I found some photos of me and my grandfather; he had passed away in 1993 just a few months after one of the pictures was taken.
Before I knew it I had spent an hour just looking thru this box. I told myself that I couldn’t do that again and went on to the next one. I didn’t find was I was looking for but I did find my knit hat that I had bought at the renaissance festival after the first weekend that I had worked there. It was my reward for all the hard work that I had done. Also in the same box was my bottle of love potion #9 from the Marie Lavoe’s museum in New Orleans. I found some CDs that I had liberated from an ex boyfriend. Yet still no paper to be seen. When I realized that I hadn’t found it yet I was a little miffed. And then I found the box that it just had to be in.
My box of bad poetry from my teenage years, I stared to glance through all of the drippy dark and depressing things that were running rampant through my teenage years. I chuckled a bit and shook my head at it. Never will I ever through it away, it was my therapy, my right as a hormonal adolescent. I flipped through every piece of paper and still no story. I guess it wasn’t meant to be found yet. Perhaps it will when it is time for me to finish the story. Or possibly it is finished, perfect in the form that I left it in five years prior.
I looked over my now messy apartment and felt peaceful with my logic, knowing that it was just not the right time. I have however found so many other treasures that I will take pleasure in. I have not a moral for my story or a real conclusion, just a new found love of the things that I kept and a final goodbye to the things that I have passed on.