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Archive for November, 2012

Do you know what a hope chest is? I think that they’re falling out of style. A hope chest is usually a wooden chest that is given to a girl around her 16th birthday (lots of variation on this; some are handed down through the family, some are given earlier than 16 years of age, etc.). What goes inside this chest? Anything a girl could want for her future: wedding plans, family silver, family linens, things for her house, things for her children, things for her later years, things to remind her of her younger days. Lots and lots of stuff. It’s basically a chest of you-are-growing-up paraphanalia. Not surprisingly, I think it’s a great idea. I’m a sucker for dreams and nostalgia.

That being said, I was not (nor am I, I think) your normal girl. My wedding plans didn’t go beyond, “I want to elope and/or be married under a canopy.” I have a thing about kids; it’s not a good thing. We don’t get along.

So what did I put in mine? Well, it used to hold memories: letters (honest-to-God letters, with stamps and crinkled envelopes) from close friends, stuffed animals that were special to me for one reason or another, and the odd empty photo album. I moved into my apartment and found a place for each of those things.

So what does it have in it now? Games. And toys. I have a chess set (a great one, styled after the Chinese), Candy Land, Boggle, Dutch Blitz, and a pack of cards (I also have MadGab, on loan). Then there’s the Aragorn figurine, the potato gun (you basically take chunks out of a potato and shoot them at people), the Nerf airgun, the Sock-Monkey-in-a-Box, a few containers of Play-Do, some toy cars, a toy plane, and a Fuzzy Willie (I think that’s it; from Cracker Barrel; the thing with shaved metal and a magnet that you use to draw hair on a cartoon head). I took my slinkie to work and my squeezy ball that’s filled with blood and rats.

My question is, what does that say of me? I’m not really grown up just yet. An apartment is not a house, though I’m pretty sure it counts as a home. I have a set of dishes; they’re not fancy, but I like them. I have a teapot. I’ve got a blanket that my grandmother made for me when I was a baby. Not to mention Wags, a dog-sized stuffed dog that everyone mistakes for a bear. I can’t really think of anything that I would want to go in there just yet.

Does that mean that I have absolutely no plans for my future? Does it mean that I don’t think I’ll live that long? Does it mean that I don’t value my future? Does it mean that I approach the sacred with an air of indifference?

Maybe it just says that I need a game closet…

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