Within the walls of this old house sits an old metal trunk. I do not recall where I found it but I'm sure it was a bargain at the time. I had a plan for it the first time I saw it. Since I enjoy making new things out of old things, the trunks' new life was to be an end table.
I really wanted a wooden trunk, but I figured a $5 metal trunk could be transformed to look like wood. I painted it and wiped it with stain and sure enough, it looked woody to me. After attaching four wooden balls to the bottom for feet and replacing its side handles with an old belt, I was satisfied with the outward appearance. Then it was time to re-do the inside.
I decided to decoupage the inside of the trunk with some old wall paper I had laying around and I even cut out some designs to decoupage over the first decoupage. Let me assure you, decoupage glue is some mighty strong smelling stuff. On the outside of an object it will dry to a high gloss shine and be hard as a rock. Decoupaging the inside of anything that needs to stay closed is not a good idea. Its been at least five years since I tackled this project and to this day when I open the trunk I can take a trip and never leave the farm.
I do not open the trunk often, not because of the odor, but because of its contents. The trunk sits in the living room and serves its purpose well as an end table. It beckons to me when I walk past it, calling "come hither" but I choose to ignore it. I just dust it off on occasion and scurry away to another room.
The trunk is filled with photos, family photos, photos that span decades of days gone by. These photos are not in photograph albums, where all good photos should be, they are loose. There is no order in the trunk, no, it's full of chaos.
I have tried on several occasions to round up my daughters to create some kind of order in the trunk. They start out with great enthusiasm, pulling out the hoards of single photos and spreading them all across the floor. After about the first fifteen minutes of sorting they begin to reminisce about each individual photo. This usually turns into laying on the floor, laughing like idiots. Two hours later, they suddenly remember they have things to do and off they go. Then I am left with no choice. I push the hundreds of photos into a large pile, pick up as many as I possibly can in one load and return them to the trunk. I do this quickly for fear I may fall head first into the trunk, never to be seen again.
The trunk is a true Pandora's Box. It taunts me. It sends out vibes that tell me if I don't do something with all those pictures, they will end up on the front of some greeting card. The recipients of those cards will be laying on the floor, laughing like idiots.
Maybe some day I will tackle the trunk, literally. I will throw open its lid and turn it on its side, spilling its colorful contents across the room. Then I will diligently go through each photo, placing it in its respective time line, until they are all accounted for.
Yes, I will be the photo warrior, conqueror of the trunk.
Perhaps I will do it today, or maybe tomorrow. After calculating the costs of how many photo albums it will take, I think I will continue to walk quickly past the trunk.
No, I shall leave this trunk for a future generation. Not only this trunk but yet another Pandora's Box that lies deep in the depths of the basement. I shall bestow that one to all the men in my family. Within its walls is every instruction manual to everything that required an instruction manual that has ever been brought into this house. They've never read them and it will give them something to do while the ladies go through the photos.
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