We read a book called The Forgotten Garden a while ago in book group. The mystery of this hidden garden was finally resolved at the end, and it was a good read. It was fiction, of course. In real life not many of us find hidden gardens. The other day I discovered a forgotten drawer, however.
I was in one of those organization moods again and had started following a post called “21 days to an organized house.” Step two, (or was it three?) said “Clean out coat closet.” Our coat closet happens to be a converted linen closet adjacent to the front entry and has a large drawer just underneath the coats. I honestly couldn’t remember when I’d looked through it last. So after I sorted through the coats and jackets, I opened that drawer and began to pull the stuff out of it.
If my life were like a novel, there would have been a precious heirloom in that forgotten drawer, say a carved box with a locket inside; or a handwritten love note in a lace envelope; or maybe even a velvet draw-string purse with sapphires in it. What I found instead was a bunch of ski stuff: five sets of ski gloves I was able to match up and a couple of singles I wasn’t; four or five ski hats; an old pair of ski pants that didn’t look like they fit anyone we know, and a couple of pairs of goggles, all left over from the days when there were people here who skied.
I also found a single striped sock, a leather dress glove I’ve been missing for about five years; three other winter glove sets; and four or five woolen scarves including two that are exactly alike—plain navy blue—one still in the thick plastic package. There were at least five extremely mangy ball caps that I will try to keep away from my husband; three hoods that once attached to coats we don’t own anymore; and a plastic bag of dried out shoe polish. Then there were eight umbrellas. Yes eight. I just kept pulling umbrellas out, calling to my husband, “Another one!” All looked fairly new and in fair shape. One still had a tag attached to it that read, “Happy Birthday from the primary!” All were black except one which was royal blue with a nice brown handle that seemed to be a little different and better than the rest. Hmmm, I thought, I wonder who this belonged to? I also asked, How and when did all these umbrellas congregate in this one drawer? More important, I asked, I wonder who will want these?
And that’s about as mysterious and exciting as my real , nonfiction life got that day.