Okay, I’ve really been slacking on the Tarot for Change book club…but let’s reconvene next week and chat about the suit of Cups. I’ll also have a Doodle poll up to help find a time for our capstone Zoom call, where we can chat IRL (sorta). I plan to pull cards for each person and share a mini practice, so be sure to tap in with your availability!
Last week, my sister came over to my place for a hangout sesh. After living in different parts of the world for the past decade or so, she, her husband and my niece, Ella, are back in the St. Louis area, which thrills me to no end. Sure, I have friends here, but there’s no one like a sister to bully into invite to do the simple things with, like going to Target and returning a shirt at the mall.
While there, Becca mentioned that she had never been down into my basement. Which she hadn’t…for good reason. I hadn’t exactly been extolling its charms. Old school builds in the south part of St. Louis have many charming qualities, like stained glass windows, but they also have very, very creepy basements that look like a selling point for a serial killer on House Hunters. My particular brand of basement also includes two windowless “murder rooms” complete with a bare light bulb, so it’s not exactly a Pinterest-worthy part of my house.
But being the good sister that I am, I took her down to the basement, which lead to going through some old boxes that I had stacked next to the stairwell—boxes that had moved with me from place to place over the years and had never been unpacked.
Inside, we found a veritable treasure trove of childhood relics, including but not limited to a Furby, some extremely disquieting dolls with sausage curls, a snowglobe with water that had turned brown with age, and a few of the journals I wrote in when I was a tween (which may or may not be featured in Tuesday’s newsletter).
We had a good laugh, but both of us came to the same conclusion: all of it, except my extremely cringey journals, had to go. But I found myself wondering: why had I held on to all of this for so long? And why did it take the imminent move to a remote island to make me finally, finally jettison the probably-haunted porcelain dolls and the random knick knacks that hadn’t meant anything to me since 2002?
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