P R O J E C T N O. 3
paintings & procrastinations
Childhood in a Box
You can't take it with you.
That mortal statemnet makes me wonder why I have not parted with my childhood toys. I sat down last night to go through boxes of memories, determined to document them with photography and then throw them out. They are just things after all.
Yet I sit here tonight, haunted by Toy Story, with a garbage bag that has not been thrown away. I stayed up late Googling the history of my playmates, 1970s packaging and accessories flashing before my eyes. My husband and son think the dolls are downright creepy, but they bring me back in time. The time before reality tapped me on the shoulder. Now,they are tired and worn from play, and I am tired and worn from life.
One of my favorite things was a metal doll case fashioned after a steamer trunk. My young hand scribbled my name across the cardboard interior — not once, but twice — to make it ver clear
it was all mine.
And in another box, Barbies.
And just a faded dress to remember my Chrissy doll.
It weirded me out that you pressed in her belly button
to make her hair grow. Remember that?
I don't have a little girl to provide an excuse for saving this stuff, but as I face middle age, it comforts me to know memory lane is contained in Ziplocks in a rusty old doll case. It makes me remember that I didn't always have a to-do list and my big decision for the day was what outfit Barbie should wear.
