Closet Memories

     So yesterday after I finished feeding the cows their obligatory hay bale and was nearly startled off the flatbed when a petrified snake appeared underneath the hay, I was weighing my options of what to do. The wind was as bit chippy, so I didn't really want to work outside. My heart rate was a staggering 200 beats per minute after discovering the snake, then I decided to get inside the dogs' heads with the dead snake. They weren't impressed. So I decided to pull off the coveralls and work in the house.
     Our utility closet has begged to be cleaned for years. Every winter I resolve I'm going to clean out that closet and every winter I've found some excuse not to approach it. I suppose this could be a reflection on my overall house cleaning abilities, but I don't really think so. Many of you may have these closets--those ones you just keep throwing things into, hoping some closet-cleaning fairy will come along and magically whisk away everything that doesn't need to be in there. The fairy never appeared and the junk just kept piling up. Well, I don't know if I should exactly describe it as junk, but...
     Yesterday was the day I finally dug in my heels and convinced myself that closet just had to be cleaned. I figured it'd take an hour and then I'd be done. Long story short--four hours and seven trash bags later, I completed my task. I also have three boxes set for Goodwill or the Salvation Army, one box went to the rag container in the shop (maybe it should have gone to Acacia Park in Colorado Springs for some resale value), and everything else found its place on the shelves and hangers in the closet.
     As I dug deeper through all the "priceless" Southern Living magazines I thought I just had to save years ago (why, I don't know), through the furnace repair manuals that outdated themselves about 15 years ago, and through the countless work gloves that had long since divorced themselves from their partners, I stumbled on a few memories. It actually turned out to be fun cleaning out that closet.
     There was a partial gallon jug of Wonder Bubbles that included the mega wand with which to blow said bubbles. So that has to clue you into how long the bubbles had been in that closet. Our oldest son, Jake, turns 22 on Monday. Our youngest, Jade, will be 21 in August. I don't think this was a recent birthday present to either one of them, but I may be wrong. I found some little, teensy, tiny snow gloves that didn't have partners. Again, I'm quite sure these weren't just purchased a couple of years ago.
     Then I discovered what I believe to be the remnant of a 4-H woodworking demonstration. Either that, or Jake was planning to build me "a little deck" as is written on the "blueprint." I've included the photo of the "blueprint." It says "Make a little deck" and includes drawings of "16's nails", "boults" (bolts), saw, "rinch" (wrench), hammer, two "2x4's", pencil or "a all" (awl). Then he includes a drawing of "a little deck."

     I didn't pitch this historic blueprint because, to me, it's priceless. It may not be worth a darn to Jake, except to draw a good laugh from his college buddies. But to me, it's a reminder of days gone by that are fondly stored in my heart. Yes, sometimes the best memories are closet memories.