Inventory and Treasures: A love letter to our lives.

Photo by Laura Fuhrman on Unsplash

A bowl of rice, a half burnt candle in a Mason jar, a bluebird feather as a book mark. A worn rug, threadbare, from children playing racecars and the shoes of a thousand visitors, a letter from an old friend.

Tonight I am taking inventory, making lists of the things that hold my heart, the return address on the envelope, my grandmother’s familiar script, beautiful cursive a throughline to another generation, before the beeps and buzzes, the text from last weekends date, the one that reads “WYD” and I delete it, because my cup is full here.

I think of how I organize my hiking pack before a weekend trip. I lay out all my gear on the dining room table, sleeping bag and stuff sacks, water bottle and carabiner, camp towel and bandana, flashlight and straw hat. I admire it as I fold it all, the things that will sustain me, the things I will carry with me, packing it into pockets and zipping them closed tenderly, adoringly, carefully.

Tonight I lay out my memories, thinking through my sweet family and the friends I’ve collected along the way, collected as if they were berries just turning plump in the sunshine, gathered into a bucket or a basket or my skirts hem. I think of the people I have loved, the man with eyes the color of pine straw, the friend with the cackling laugh, the train hoppers and the hobos, the academics and poets, the troublemakers and the others, the kind who wait at home for you, ready to make you coffee, to say good morning, beautiful, the kind who soothe your soul.

A half drunk bottle of good whiskey, an empty bottle of bad beer, two tea cups sitting outside on the porch table, their contents consumed, their tea bags dry, the conversation still sweetly present on my mind. I take inventory of all the love and loss, the comings and goings, those I have kept and those from which I have drifted away, those who have been here decades, those I have just met.

My child sleeping in his bedroom, a book with browning pages, the bathroom warm from a shower, an earring who lost her companion, a framed picture of my brother, a piece of cake from the neighbors’ party. A load of laundry waiting to be folded, a mouse scratching in the attic, the smell of garlic in the kitchen, a friends quiet knock on the back door… I take inventory of it all, I add and subtract, collect it all up in my arms and hold it in, life is meant to be well lived.




Mother. Southerner. Storyteller. Bread and Roses. #race #class #poverty #gender #equity #children #egalitarianorganizing #bottomupstorytelling *views my own*

Love podcasts or audiobooks? Learn on the go with our new app.

Recommended from Medium

Benefits Of Silence. Philosophy And Sagacity Beyond Words.

Plan to become a better learner

My Escape from Reality

4 Valuable Life Lessons I Learned from Doing Yoga

The Forgotten Art of Curiosity

4 Ways To Stop Putting So Much Pressure On Yourself

Missing Presence

The 21st Year

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Gwen Frisbie-Fulton

Gwen Frisbie-Fulton

Mother. Southerner. Storyteller. Bread and Roses. #race #class #poverty #gender #equity #children #egalitarianorganizing #bottomupstorytelling *views my own*

More from Medium

Opposite-Gender Friendship Is Important

Reckoning | 1.2 | And I Feel Fine

Even in the Closet, You’re Visible

a Nigerian lesbian couple holding hands and backing the camera, one is wearing leopard skin print and brown t-shirt while the other wears a plain black trousers and t-shirt

“It Gets Better.”