It seems that future me went back to the past to trick present me into tidying the basement. I hate her. Me. Because it’s turning all springy and such, I wanted to fish my happy plates out of the basement. I have a conglomeration of 50s/60s pop dishes, some from Aunt Theresa (thanks! They still rock!), some from junk stores. They have boomerangs and poppy stars and stuff. They are happy. So I packed up the old wedding stoneware (Mikasa Arabella. Yeah, I know, you have it too. And your sister has the one with the fruit), and ventured down to find my plates. I brought up the box marked China, hoped it wasn’t actually a portal to the other side of the world, and opened it up. I unwrapped a lot of my fun stuff, but was missing the plates. Where could they be? They were not in the box marked “funky dishes” b/c that contains the decidedly unfunky but rather beautiful dark brown stoneware from Grandma. Then the looking commenced. And in order to look, I had to move things and in moving them, I started putting them where they actually should be instead of at the bottom of the stairs (if you saw my basement, you’d understand. You want to ditch your load and get back into the light). And before I knew it, I was cleaning. On a beautiful spring day, I was in my basement–in which skeletal hands and rusty chains would not be out of place–sorting out of season clothes. Bleh. And then? The plates were right on the shelf near the steps, all stacked up and waiting to go upstairs. Stupid future me..

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