THE WIND PHONE
My Closet Holds More Than Clothes
Memories of my lost sister fall out and bonk me on the head
Every year between autumn and winter, I grit my teeth, determined to establish order in my closet, where it never existed before. It is the time of my sister’s birthday, when she insisted that we greet her new year with rabid organization in the room we unwillingly shared.
Closet commandments
Echoes of her bossy litanies remind me of her many, difficult rules.
“If you haven't worn or used the contents within the past year, kiss them goodbye,” she lectured me.
I have a hard time kissing anything goodbye. I guess you could call it hoarding. Foolish optimism always reigns in my closet and guides my decisions.
- I’ll go down 4 dress sizes if I just put my mind to it.
- Someday I will be so glad that I saved every shred of paper my daughter touched in elementary school.
Boxes of memories
A pile of “memory” boxes falls. No larger than gift boxes, they hold remembrance of loves I’ve lost. One reminds me that I was once the mother of three babies that ended with two miscarriages.
