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Like most children, I loved boxes.

At least I think children like to play with boxes. I know cats do.

We rarely had boxes in the house. I don’t know why and I don’t know where all these boxes came from that other people had in their houses.

Part of my problem was my mother wasn’t the homemaking type. While my aunt wrapped gifts in appropriately sized boxes using wrapping relevant to the occasion and matching bows, my mom rarely used a container. She just folded a pair of pajamas and wrapped them as is. Sometimes she needed birthday paper but all she had was Christmas paper, so she turned it inside out.

This is the kind of woman who does not see the sense in accumulating boxes.

We joke that, as older people, we dread throwing out a box because it’s a good box and it might come in handy at some point. You have to keep it, just in case.

I didn’t have to get old to appreciate the importance of a good box.

As a young person, I saved boxes because I moved frequently — in and out of apartments during college and in and out of towns as I pursued my career as a writer. Then, the final move: to the house I shared with my husband.

I have no real plans to move again and, if I do move, I will have to hire someone to pack and more for me. I’m too old for that hassle.

This begs the question: Why do I have so many boxes? I’m not saving them for a move. They’re serving no purpose, just sitting there empty. I get the feeling they’re smiling, maybe even laughing, at me. Just sitting there, relaxing, no responsibilities, no schedule. Just sitting there, rent free. Perhaps judging me.

I realize where they came from. Deliveries throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, of course. I continue to collect them, as I have developed an aversion to grocery shopping and have items delivered weekly instead of slogging around a store with a handful of coupons, my glasses steaming up from wearing a mask.

I don’t really know what the boxes want.

My husband used to tell me food wanted to be eaten because that is it’s reason for existing. Maybe it’s the same with boxes. They are made to contain things. They must be unhappy crammed into closets and sitting empty throughout the house.

It’s time a brought joy to the boxes, so this weekend, I’m going to break down some boxes to put inside another box until the box population has dwindled considerably.

I have a feeling, though, I will run across that one special box I can’t let go of. Just in case.

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