Raven's Roads
Living an interesting life: the travels and musings
of motorcycling author Linda R. Moore

Mar 28, 2007

Thinking out loud: Our own personal museum

For years my husband has had a storage unit, nestled away in a quiet town a number of miles away from home. Far enough that it’s a day trip to reach, near enough that it can be reached when needed.

With the impending move-out, we’ve decided to stash our worldly goods in there–the ones that I don’t yard-sale out or give away or otherwise dispose of. I had some serious doubts as to whether it would all fit, but having spent a day there last week, I’m surprised to find vast tracts of space lurking at the back, and we created a tunnel-like passage down to that unused and fertile space.

“Why are you keeping all this junk?” is something I’ve asked my husband, and other people with storage sheds too. I’m a fan of throwing things out, not of surrounding myself in clutter, of starting fresh unencumbered by Stuff. I even own at least two books about decluttering.

Yet when it came to my bookshelf, I generated nine boxes just in old photographs and the books I wanted to keep. And that’s just one bookshelf.

But now, after hours of dust and climbing and poking around, I guess I know the answer.

A storage shed is a museum–the collected remnants of past lives. This is a museum that requires monkey genes to navigate–the boxes are piled high and stacked on top of tall, solid furniture–but it’s a museum nonetheless. I found a cardboard box with Gracie’s little tooth marks in it; that cat loves to chew paper and cardboard and many books have fallen victim to her sharp and pointy teeth. In that box was delivered my first Harley Barbie doll, a doll that I paid well over retail for in the false understanding that, as a “hot” collectible, it would never come down in price. I immediately reduced the price by 75% by being so enamoured of the doll that I had to take her out of the box, but it was worth it–she is beyond cool.

I remember the postman coming to deliver it, how I opened the door just a crack because I was young and thin and wearing only a long t-shirt…but he saw, anyway, and I saw the little pleased smirk. I guess I made that postman’s day.

I took the box home, because it’s the perfect size to send out some of my oversized hardback books, and so the cycle continues.

Memories, encapsulated in carboard boxes. A lifetime of computer equipment and electronic items. Old black and white TVs. A lesson in how to make old tubes safe to transport. Punch cards. Aged magazines. Photographs. Each item comes with a thick layer of dust and an even thicker layer of memory, love and association.

So yes, it is nice to browse, once in a while. It is nice to remember, and to have these things. They may not be used, but they make the owners happy.

And now, once again, the cycle starts over: it started when I set down my nine boxes, started my own room in the museum, and called it a beginning.