Small Moment

We have been clearing out stuff: old stuff, used stuff, discarded stuff, no-longer-needed stuff. Bags of stuff are piling up in my study to go to Goodwill sometime soon. Boxes of stuff are downstairs in the basement to exit to somewhere else.

As part of all this un-stuffing, Warren's son David, about to turn 29, came and went through boxes of his stuff: old toys and such in the basement and the contents of his bedroom closet, which has been packed full since I moved into this house over a decade ago.

David's stuff in his closet spanned from the years from grade school through high school. Old science fair boards, books, Boy Scout pamphlets, camping equipment, drumsticks from high school band, reports, a chemistry book. Stuff.

With his dad's input and my looking on, David sorted through it all, dividing the piles into "keep until later" (one or two boxes neatly packed and slid back into the closet), "take now" (a hefty pile), "give away" (several of the bags sitting on my study floor), and "throw away." It took a few hours, but in the end, the closet was usable and everyone was smiling.

I rescued a few items from the "give away" pile: two small stuffed animals to head west to Lyrick and Ramona. And I grabbed the Literature textbook from high school (from which year I do not know) because I love high school Lit texts (and still wish I could get my hands on the ones from my high schools years).

David pointed to the textbook and said there was a poem he used to sit and read over and over during class when he was bored (which he indicated was most of the time).

Really? Which one?

"Eldorado" by Edgar Allan Poe.

I flipped to the Poetry section of the book and found it. "Go ahead," I commanded.

David closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then quoted the first of the four stanzas:

Gaily bedight,
     A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
     Had journeyed long,
     Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

I applauded. "Well done, David!" I exclaimed. "Well done!"

Well done, indeed. This is, after all, someone who has never once indicated that he ever read, much less memorized, anything smacking of literature. Science, history, that kind of stuff? Absolutely. But poetry? I figured David was not unlike his father, who once searched on the map for Proof Rock in order to surprise me by traveling there (which still remains one of the all-time greatest acts of love my husband, who is a most romantic man, ever undertook, albeit unsuccessfully).

A lot of stuff exited that day. Afterwards, David exhaled loudly. "It felt good to get rid of all that stuff."

All that stuff and "Eldorado" too. Some days are made for keeping.