Unlikely Box of Seeds

Clump #72: Clear out wire box of stashed clutter in bedroom.

Oh boy, have I been dreading this box, or cage, containing a mess. Here’s a good tip: don’t buy organizational equipment before you purge, recycle, shred, and — finally — see what you really need/want to keep. The temptation is to buy spiffy organizational tools and feel like you’re addressing the problem.  In this case, getting a cool box just made things worse; it turned into a procrastination bin with a long shadow of guilt.


For anyone familiar with me and this site, you know I have a propensity for stashing away inspirational quotes. Though mostly filled with shreddable and fileable stuff, this box didn’t disappoint.

Below are two quotes that were stuck in a notebook from the box.  A three year old calendar page with the beautiful message from The Buddha, and another passage I wrote down on a receipt (maybe in a waiting room of some sort, who knows where or when?) by Sister Wendy Beckett.


The one from Sister Wendy shocked me, because just a couple of days ago I brought the book, Sister Wendy’s 1000 Masterpieces, up from our basement.  I was looking for a big, impressive book to slip some papers in to help with a neighbor’s Halloween party scavenger hunt-type game.  Kids would come ringing the doorbell, with one in the group suffering from a comical malady, and I would read an incantation for the cure.

The book fit the bill, and I’ve had it upstairs since with the intention to read through it.  My sister gave the book to our mother, and then generously allowed me to have it when we were going through parental stuff. Amazing.


Here is what I wrote down in my messy handwriting:

“Again and again I’ve taken quick glances and then for some reason … it’s opened up like one of those Japanese flowers that you put into water and something I thought wasn’t worth more than a casual, respectful glance begins to open up depth after depth of meaning.”   Sister Wendy Beckett

Lately I’ve been pretty drunk with the capturing of brilliant fall colors like this:


Soon after I took that photo, I glanced down at the ground, took this one, and as Sister Wendy so perfectly described, it opened up “depth after depth of meaning.”  Something about the label of weed; the delicate down, like a gorgeous ballet costume from the Nutcracker; and the indefatigable imperative to set seed, even in the face of frost and suburban herbicides.


This quote from a Dove chocolate, wedged in the box, wrapped things up:


“Blessings only come to those who notice.”   –Jean, Houston, TX


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