Monday, January 18, 2010

To Empty A Drawer

This blog is dedicated to my friend Ilene who encouraged me to write about my silverware/junk drawer. She suspected there needed to be a drawer intervention and she was correct. This list is for you, Ilene and as I report what I found in the drawer, item by item, there is a warning for the reader. The list is long and rather obscure and strange. Perhaps it is a reflection of the drawer's owner. The reader is free to decide.

I dug out a notebook stuffed with cut out snowflakes and shopping lists, photos of me in Hawaii, Central Park, Berlin, at my Columbia University graduation, and at my Houghton College graduation. There were photos with family members, a photo of me with my Father taken somewhere in Iowa, a college senior photo of me posing dramatically (in black and white), photos with nieces and a nephew and siblings, a photo in Ephesus, Turkey and one of me in the bathtub (as a four year old, not recently).

The right hand section of this drawer held newspaper articles, lyrics to songs, Christmas stickers, and a CD of my Father's organ music performed at the Princeton University Chapel. There was a church directory, a kitchen aid instruction booklet, a Christmas card and a Starbucks gift certificate, two cork screws, a bottle of glue, two rolls of tape (one scotch and one painter) and a bottle of scented gingerbread oil. There was a calorie counter book (crunched up), three packs of gum, seven cookie cutters, a container of nails (all sizes), a container of staples, an EMPTY container, a lighter, a can opener, four green stones which belong at the bottom of a fish tank and a stone decorated to celebrate St. Patrick. Why can't I open this drawer easily?

There was a cassette tape of a speech I gave in 1993 at a Houghton College staff chapel and a cassette tape of a Turkish singer I liked. Her name is Nilufer. Look her up! There are two cassette tapes of Christmas carols performed by the Royal College, directed by David Willcocks. I do not own a cassette player. Oh yes, there was an actual silverware bin in the drawer...turns out I am missing several pieces of silverware and there is a very old beer opener. I do not drink beer. I found a pink notebook, a note pad of stickey notes, an unopened Verizon instruction book (bound in plastic) for things I apparently never use...two dry erase pens, two crayons, two pencils and a pen. Nearing the end...please hold steady... There was a measuring cup with no handle... this was jammed toward the back of the drawer next to two empty decorative boxes, three mini mother-of-pearl framed photos, six spools of thread, two batteries, two adaptors, eight paper clips and a mini lightbulb. There were two buttons, a lone penny and a rubber band. There were ten little rubber suction cups to hang things on glass and the top of a plastic jug...(no matching jug). I feel as if this drawer is a true reflection of my teaching style...a little bit here and a little bit there...and a whole bunch of missing pieces...and good intentions...

There were four plastic clips and another tiny jar of scented oil...I am not sure what the scent was. There was a pamphlet about my stainless cookware, yet another notebook, a photo of my Father in his 20's, a magnet, two more plastic things for hanging, a card with my silverware Oneida stainless identification number on it, thirteen sewing needles and finally, a scripture card on Love. There. By the end of this month, I hope to wash the drawer out and load the silverware back in, (in the clean bin). What I will do with the other mismatched items remains to be seen...maybe they can be placed in a sock drawer somewhere...perhaps I shall give them all to my friend Ilene...the entire box. Happy New Year...Ilene.

1 comment:

  1. It's amazing how "alien" our junk drawers can get. Sometimes I go through one and wonder how these things I've saved ever came to be mine. Your list is like confessional poetry, and I'm tempted to search for metaphor. Thirteen sewing needles, a lone penny, a stone decorated to celebrate St. Patrick . . .

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