Junk drawers are better than any three-thousand dollar scrapbook that a bourgie stay-at-home-mother can create with her seven-hundred dollar die-cut machine and her hand-pulped paper made by Indonesian amputees that she bought at a fair-trade scrapbook expo. Just like a family's heirlooms, a junk drawer takes time to ripen and hold the secret treasures of a slightly unkempt family.
My husband and I have two junk drawers. A kitchen junk drawer:
And a bedroom junk drawer
The kitchen junk drawer is full of coupons, lists half listed, doo-dads, Christmas cards and general kitchen-ry. It's layer upon layer of the things that never found a home, but we cannot possibly part with. Our trashy "heirloom" Frou Frou.
If you look close at the bedroom junk drawer, you'll see a pair of underpants (with stars. Pre-ssejica underpants that made me wince when I saw them for the first time) that I thought my husband had long put out to pasture, but here we are...the beginnings of our family and the beginnings of a nostalgic piece of our lives. A layer to our junk drawer.
When I was a kid, I often asked myself, "Why don't you just throw this stuff away? It's just thrown in this drawer." But now, the thought of living a life without a junk drawer, however small, seems like tearing up every photo you own. When I'm sixty, I hope my junk drawer's layers are excavated and we find out exactly what kinds of keys we didn't need in 2011, but somehow...we couldn't have lived without them.