Years ago when my four kids were small, a young woman came by my home with paraphernalia for sale, geared toward young children. It turned out she had merchandise to sell to non-child homes as well, but she’d left those in the car.
“How do you know which stuff to bring to which house,” I asked.
“Oh they teach us to look for BCOs in the yard,” she said casually.
BCOs, I learned, are brightly colored objects.
Our lives are revealed by our stuff, more obviously than we know.
The shelves and walls and counters of Nellie and Mike’s home reflect the young couple life they’ve been living, but their household contents are shifting. I forget about all the gear that comes with children (and with lots of well-meaning, gift-giving relatives). Babies are tiny, but their presence is transforming, even before they arrive.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 47: 143 words, TOTAL = 6943; 53,057 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.