I found the box

I was doing a fall-cleanout around the house today, getting ready to take a load of stuff to the dump. Things that have died in the course of the last year but are too large for our trashcan. An old bedframe, two patio chairs, the back screen door, a lamp, stuff like that. And I found the box.

I’ve been looking for it for 2 years. I remembered moving it when I moved into this house, 2 years ago this month, but I haven’t been able to find it until today.

I don’t hold a lot of stock in the idea that my old wedding gown is symbolic of my old marriage. Nope. Rather, I view it as a gorgeous piece of woven art. My art. It’s a creamy silk shantung with a bodice of hand-beaded chantilly lace.

It’s been my plan to make myself a quilt for my girly bedroom using the bodice as the center piece and some of the yards and yards of silk for patch work, along with various other fabric pieces. I’ve been collecting purples and greens and creams in silk, satin, velvet, and other luscious fabrics for the last year or so just for this purpose.

So today, I finally found the box with my wedding dress in it.

It also had in it some old Christmas cards that I was hanging onto, and a few other things of insignificant value. Sentimental mementos. Little bits of life. Sweet nothings.

I found the box today next to the broken ironing board. It had another box on top of it, which is probably why I couldn’t find it when I went looking before—maybe I didn’t dig deep enough.

It was standing in about 2” of water. Silk has the same wicking qualities as cotton, so of course it soaked up the water just like a candle wick soaks up oil. Everything in the box was black with mold. Black. It actually took me a couple minutes to register what I was looking at.

I found the box today that I’ve spent the last two years looking for and now I wish I hadn’t.