My life has been consumed by boxes lately: for me, spring cleaning means massive reorganization of all the stuff I got interested in over the past winter. Or just of stuff.
Last week, for example, I cut the top 1/2" off an empty tissue box so it would fit in a desk drawer and corral a bunch of pens and staplers and (wowza!) the calligraphy nibs I spent so much time practising with as a teen.
Seems almost comical by comparison to consider these monsters, purchased as catch-alls to fit under a glorified coffee table:
They're not exactly pretty, are they. I wonder if a cotton liner would dress them up?
I mean, if it can work for a wicker basket (or three, none of which I have a use for, but which look better on the mantelpiece than the odds and ends that usually accumulate there.)
Spring always prompts another look at this little box too, and a solid round of thinking how to press it into everyday use:
It's very special, this wooden box painted so badly with model airplane paint, my family name scrawled inside the lid by my late brother. He used it to keep track of the characters he was memorizing when he learned Chinese. I've tried keeping a few different things in it but nothing that sticks to my daily routine. Maybe I should use it to store a stash of chocolate, and keep it at my desk?
Ah, chocolate. That reminds me of this currently most important box:
Okay, I'll be honest - it's not the box. It's the cakes. How come all the best stuff comes in the smallest packages, anyway?