When I was a young girl living with my grandmother, I recall her special room filled with mannequin heads wearing fancy hats, and Barbie dolls with clothes she fashioned herself. I believed there was hope for adults after all: that grown ups do not have to grow out of the world of play and pretend.
Lately my sister and I have been cleaning our garage, essentially a storage facility for our family. From my father’s old army fatigues and an out of tune piano to rusty tools and broken door knobs, we are unearthing nearly fifty years of history, determining what has some use or value from that which has past its utility in our hearts or lives.
A few days ago I opened one of my own boxes: stuffed animals.