Ode to the Shoebox

by Darcie D. Sims, Ph.D., CHT, CT, GMS

I came across the perfect shoebox yesterday. It was just the right size...not too big, and not too small. The sides weren't caved in from having a pair of too-big shoes crammed into its depths, and it still had a good top on it. It was the perfect box! I could wrap it with red and white crepe paper and add a pretty bow, and everyone would know whose box it was. And there would be lots of Valentines to go in that box...so many it might even overflow. I hugged that box when I found it yesterday.

It was perfect. Too bad I found it now--35 years too late! Ah well, that sometimes seems to be the story of my life--too late or too early or too small or too big or too something--right now, too empty.

There are lots of uses for shoeboxes. I used to be so organized that I actually put shoes in them; but now they hold odd assortments of photos, trinkets, old sales receipts, canceled checks and a million of the "To Do" lists that I made every January. Shoeboxes are like little time capsules, each one holding treasures (or trash) from the past, buried beneath the long dresses in the back of the closet or stored on those shelves that no one can reach, or jumbled into dark, secret places in the basement. There are lots of memories stashed away in shoeboxes.

Shoeboxes and Valentines are symbols of February. February seems sort of stuck in the calendar--a break from the post-holiday gloom and a rehearsal for the rites of spring (when we get new shoeboxes with new shoes in them).

No one buys shoeboxes...they just grow (like hangers do) in the dark. They are there whenever you need them, bringing comfort and security and a peace of mind that we will always have enough room to store the world as long as we have shoeboxes.

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