Egg washed

Sitting here on the floor at the last of our miniature kitchen renovation (purging the cabinets and then painting them from a hard, dark pine with knots to a soft eggy yellow) with a small cardboard box. Feeling sick from all the deep cleaning supplies in my airways, so I decided to sort through this box of mostly outdated allergy medicine.

2011, 2013, 2010.

Medicine we bought our first year of marriage. We used it in the one-bedroom condo in West Ashley, kept the CVS-brand Benedryl all these years and towed it with us from apartment to house to here; the first we bought together.

It is a small little place that needs more monetary love and updates than we can give it. So we do our best with the little time we have and turn a mostly blind eye to the formica countertops in the kitchen and bathroom, the haphazardly painted trimwork or unfinished ceiling paint. We are as proud as we can be of what we have accomplished in our time here; rewiring the electric and installing a new HVAC being our two biggest (and mostly only) accomplishments. But then again, there was this spring when we discovered how beautifully the azaela bushes bloom, or how tall and wide the banana leaves are on the tree outside the sunroom windows in the summer.

I throw away the expired medicine and I keep the notes from old friends I found stashed away in the box. Notes from five or more years ago, simple hellos left for us by a neighbor, or a thank you for dinner. Perhaps a birthday wish. Missing these people makes it difficult to read any of them, but the comfort in knowing they are nearby is enough. I put the stack back in with the oversized container of Vitamin C supplement and stowe the box in its corner under the sink.