I decided that a holiday Monday was a good day to tackle unpacking some of the old boxes in the garage. Every time Daniel and I move, we pack up n boxes of stuff. And then we unpack n-k boxes, where k is generally a small single-digit number. So, we've ended up with this small cache of boxes, some of which appear to date back as far as when I started grad school.
When we moved into this house, I decided that as a homeowner, I was going to be a responsible adult and Unpack All the Things. Since we've been in this house for a year, and the task is not yet complete, you may deduce that I have approached this with the same dispatch, alacrity, and ruthless efficiency with which I approach many of the tasks of responsible adulthood. However, I have made progress.
Today I hit a particularly venerable set of boxes and unearthed a number of treasures, including:
A stash of much-loved paperbacks, including Roger Zelazny's Nine Princes in Amber (which I think I own in at least 2 other editions now), the well-worn copy of Pat Cadigan's Mindplayers that my sister and I must have read ten times over between us the year it came out, the Radical Utopias omnibus containing Joanna Russ's The Female Man that I've been hunting for since discussing it at WisCon this year, and a number of much-loved Doctor Who novels that I thought I'd long since lost or given away. (Andy Lane's All-Consuming Fire and Kate Orman's The Left-Handed Hummingbird were both in that box.)
The second-best scarf in the world: A Dutch postal-worker's scarf (blue with shocking green and red stripes) that saw me through 4 New Haven winters. It's appallingly warm, and I missed it terribly when I was stuck in New York in a blizzard this past December. (The best scarf in the world doesn't exist yet. It's the 4th Doctor scarf I'm going to knit myself someday when I get my butt in gear and learn how to knit.)
A curious squarish bag, with a belt allowing it to be worn around the waist. I stared at this for quite some time before realizing that it was a bag for carrying a portable CD player. Ah, yes, those things that I listened to music and audiobooks on in the brief stretch of technological time between the Walkman and the iPod. The bag has two zippered compartments: one which is for the player itself, and has a little port for the headphone cord to go through, and the other of which has a dozen plastic sleeves for holding CDs. On inspection, these proved to hold the four discs of Cleopatra Records's Goth Box compilation, which I'm now ripping to iTunes.
I wonder what I'll uncover next?