You know that scene in Amélie when she arranges for Bretodeau to find his lost tin box of childhood memorabilia in the telephone booth?
I had a very similar experience last night after finally tearing myself away from my laptop to tidy my room, which had become a complete mess during my back and forth travelling over reading week. Anyway, while cleaning I checked underneath my bed and found this little rosewood box hidden under a bunch of loose school papers. Though it was a tiny box, it somehow had housed this great little selection of some of the most defining moments of my entire life.
Stuffed in the box were pictures of the vineyard I lived on when I was a 15 year old expat in France, blurry snapshots from my friends and I’s escapades downtown during high school (we were weirdos…we used to leave school early and drink cheap wine on the art gallery steps with our best friend, this fat homeless guy Mickey), and a hot air balloon pin I brought all the way back from Québec with me when we moved out west, among other things.
I’m sure most of you aren’t as disorganized as I am and probably safely store away your most treasured memorabilia, but have any of you ever experienced the same happy accident of stumbling upon some lost gems?