Suzy picked up the old blue Rubbermaid tote from the stacks in the garage. As the dust stirred up, she coughed a bit as she carried it back into the house. It was that time of the year, Spring cleaning in the Fall. The tote felt heavy as if it were full of lead weights.

She bobbled it a bit as she fumbled to close the door to the house behind her, then found her way to the living room. The tote hit the floor with a heavy thud. She grabbed some cleaning rags and dusted off the excess grime which had built up over the years. She wasn’t sure what was in the box…she could be diving into 20-year-old junk or treasures. She hoped for the latter as she peeled open the lid.

She smiled as she found some pictures and cards from throughout the years. Some from her ex-fiancé — she must have packed this up when they sold the house all those years ago. Those can be tossed, no more feelings are tied to them. Others from her dad, who passed years ago, as well as her mom, along with a host of friends. She smiled through some sweet tears as she looked through the cards and trinkets. She sorted through, keeping the ones that still mattered, putting the rest aside for donations that maybe others could enjoy or destined for the trash.

As she neared the bottom of the tote, a small wooden cedar box was nestled in the corner under some cards. She paused, then reached for the box. It had a lock, but the key was long gone. As she opened it, a few things came to light. A couple of boxed necklaces sat on top which no longer had meaning for her. She set those with the donations.

She unfolded some little sheets of lined papers. Crayon and pencil covered them with I Love You Sissy and drawings from when her baby sister was young. They were 12 years apart, so she had to be 16 or so when she received these little notes. She put them aside to show her sister later that week at lunch.

She flipped through all her middle and high school and college ID cards, laughing at how she wore almost the same red and white striped pattern throughout middle school. The rest were just funny to see with the big hair and bangs, along with her child-like face.

She found her little plastic owl she used to display on her car dash. She loved birds and, while she couldn’t remember where she got it from, she considered taking it and putting back in her current car for good luck.

Then she looked down. Two reminders of him sat before her. Things she couldn’t depart with even at the worst moments. His air force ring with a garnet/ruby colored stone and a pin from his preferred state University she had planned to give him, but never got it out to him. She mused to herself a few moments, wondering if he ever knew that in high school she picked the same color stone because it wasn’t just one of the school colors, but his birthstone as well. For her, it was a win-win no matter what back then.

She picked up the ring and placed it on her thumb. Still too big, she recollected how she wrapped it with thread so she could have it with her when he was in service until she found a sturdy enough chain to wear it on her neck. She probably should have sent it back to him, but he never asked for it, and she really didn’t want to let it go.

She smiled to herself as she slowly set the items back into the box, and then packed everything back in the tote. That tote should never have been out in the garage, so she set it in the office, still not ready to part with what remained.

I wish I had an opportunity to take you home. No, not to my parents or where we grew up; not even where I was born. Not to a place we called our own, although that would be nice too.

I wished I’d been able to show you where my family is from. It isn’t really anyplace special, just a small town nestled in the Appalachian mountains. It’s a place where everyone knows you, even if you have never met them before.

There’s the small pizza joint, run by someone who graduated with my folks. It’s a small place, and pizza is basically what they have. There aren’t many restaurants here; most folks eat at home or make the 10 to 20 mile trek to eat out when they go shopping.

There’s a park with a pond and camping sites, along with shelters. That’s where we have our family reunions. Some years, there around 40 or so; but sometimes we’ve had hundreds.

Winding down the road, we pass my aunt and uncle’s and their kids places. My cousins rarely venture far away from home. I’m the most foreign of them all.

When we come up to the fork, if we go right, we’ll pass Dad’s place, and pass more family. If we go the other, we’ll pass where my grandparents and step father are buried. If we keep going, we’ll end up looping around and heading back to town…or we could eventually take a right and head down the road to my other grandparents place.

It’s a slower pace of life here. People take time to bring dishes and bake and care for one another. There’s the downside too…everyone knows everyone else’s business and some can’t help but to get all up in it. But still, they’d loved to meet you.

It would have been great to see your face as Grandpa pulled out a jar of honey with the wax still in it, or his famous strawberry jam. He taught me how to spoon peanut butter out of the jar and stick it to my tongue to eat it.

I’d like to see how you would have responded as Mom’s family came together, a smorgasbord of plates and desserts for Christmas, followed by pranks with the holiday gifts. Grandma’s red velvet cake, Aunt’s peanut butter pie, the list goes on. Sadly, so much of those days are gone now that my grandparents have passed away.

The small town is there, and some of the good stuff remains. There was the rolling store, bringing groceries to this rural area. It was family run a long time ago, but they still get delivery service from Schwann’s. The rolling store was more fun; we got to pick a treat when they came by.

I took a friend there once, back in high school days. I had her convinced the homes had outhouses. They really didn’t but that was funny. I wonder if you would have fell for it too.

Most of the homes where my family lives were built by our own family. That’s the way they do it there…someone in the family or a good friend usually has the skills and the boys to do the labor. I’m always amazed; it’s an art that gets lost as we move into bigger towns and cities, I guess.

Oh, I wish I could’ve shared this place. So much to see and experience for a quiet sleepy little place. But, it’s growing up too; I hope not too fast. I think you would love it.