I’ve been to the most terrifying place today, one I have avoided for over two years: the closet. This is the Great Storage closet, my repository of STUFF and accoutrements. It is the resting place of old canvas, bad sketchbooks and Kraft paper. The graveyard of mismatched picture frames guarded by scroll box sentinels. There lay odd sections of 2x4, door moldings, canvas wedges, rolls of ink-stained wool felt, boxes of Japanese book cloth; mat board, cardboard tubes adorned with arabesques and rolls of pi paper. Plate glass taped to boards; warped Lucite; small planks of balsa. Enameled Chinese butcher trays and bubble wrap. There are legions of empty cartons, ones I might desperately need someday in the unforeseen future, but which I will now haul away in a fit of pique because they have tumbled on to my head one too many times.
But! There were no mysterious creatures running about and no vacated spider dwellings. A relief. It has taken the better part of late morning, but now the Great Storage Closet is peaceful once again.
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