A large box was placed on
the Baraga Avenue porch and became my special hiding and thinking spot. It had comfortable
smooth brown sides and emitted a crispy-new wintery aroma.
Scooching deep into my
box (any box) made me feel secure and peaceful. On this occasion, I was
laying in it looking up into the blue sky when large, warm and smiley eyes
peeked down at me. The amused and expressive eyes were attached to an
elongated face which was connected to a very tall, slender,
white-haired man sporting anchor tattoos on his forearms. My hidey home was
discovered making it no longer a secret cubicle on a porch, but a
place that captured the chuckling interest of
my Norwegian grandfather, a sailor named Emil Berger Olsen.
I was eight years old and
spending family time with my grandparents in Marquette. A rare large
purchase provided the discarded box.
The front porch paralleled the side of the
house and had a right turn porch wing which was hidden from view of the
front door. It was perfect for a small child with a
fascination with containers. Perhaps because of our large family, privacy was
sacred. As an adult, I believe it was my saving grace during certain times of my
life. The aloneness and hidden-ness of boxes was amazing and a palpable
sensation for a small quiet girl.
A musical instrument, a recorder, which
I played with abandon, created sounds that reminded me of nature. I loved my
recorder, and although my bent was not toward musical talents.
I played pieces with the best of the best in this cardboard box.
Time has slowly drifted
but not my box love - containers, drawers, cubbyholes - all make me happy. I watched
a show focusing on the underworld of street people living below a
large city … the lucky ones with cardboard boxes as their home. I
never want to be homeless, but have to admit that this reality forced me to muse about
my own life as one after another, the homeless crawled into their very own
portable dwellings.
The show made me
reminisce about my bemused grandfather. A quiet giant of a man.
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