By Lee Scott
When I was a child we had a junk drawer in the kitchen. In the junk drawer was a variety of items crammed into one small space. There were rubber bands, and paper clips, tweezers, bills and S&H Stamp books. I thought we were the only family on earth to have a junk drawer. My mother and father were bright interesting people, but organization was not one of their strong points and so I assumed that the family junk drawer was just a reflection of them. Until I became an adult and had my own junk drawer. The first time I realized it even existed was when I was looking for a pair of scissors and I found everything but the scissors in the drawer. Coupons for the grocery store, rulers, pens with no ink, broken pencils and of course my own S&H Green stamp books.
Recently, I had the opportunity to sit with two of my granddaughters and go through their junk drawers. Oh the surprises. Broken little toys like the kind we used to get in Cracker Jacks boxes. Packages of gum with one piece left. Bouncy balls, hair clips and all sorts of Elsa paraphernalia from the movie “Frozen”. My brain screamed “Throw it away!” as I sat there and smiled. There were broken tiaras, beads for bracelets, lick-on tattoos, and a host of other child hood treasures. My mother would have been so pleased because for her the junk drawer contents reflected a family. I do recall the expired library cards, excess wallet sized school pictures, golf tees and pieces of paper with “books to read” written on them. The treasures found at the bottom of the junk drawers contain stories within themselves; and my granddaughter’s eyes lit up when they pulled something out that they had not seen for a while and told me the story behind it.
Now it seems I have a new assortment of “stuff” for my junk drawer. How I got pine needles in there is unknown to me, but they are there, along with new pens from my new dentist, doctor and hairdresser, at least ten coupons from Bed, Bath & Beyond, the Hurricane Escape Route and the hours for both the Community Refuse and library. But there are also invitations from new friends and other notices that remind me that I am home with my own stories to tell.
