It's funny how we can rush through the days, taking for granted the existence of unhidden things in our most personal spaces. Sometimes I finally sit down to sort through boxes under the bed, or piles on a desk in a hallway that I've walked past every day for 6 months (or 6 years), only to find the most bizarre pieces of meaningless junk, or a completely forgotten treasure. How do we become blind to those things for such a length of time?
The other day my eyes opened to the number of locks on my dresser drawers. The drawers are life-long companions and I have varied memories of each (hide-and-seek in the wardrobe, disheveled drawers in my college apartment, secret snooping in the guest room dresser).
However, the pieces are all my elders and on this particular day the locks reminded me of ghostly sentinels, whispering out across the ages for me to stoop down and listen to some of their mysteries. A quick trip around the upper floor of my house made me realize that almost all of the drawers have locks.
Most now only hold winter accessories, underclothes, school projects, CDs...but what did they once hold? All the letters and accounts we now password-protect online must have once had their place in these drawers-- children, spouses and workers kept away from their secrets with skeleton keys.
Just as I sometimes think of the energy of old inhabitants' conversations and goings-on being captured in the walls and floors of my home, I now wonder what stories are infused in those drawers, and whether some old secret is adding an extra layer of warmth to my winter gloves.
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