Saturday morning, I helped a friend of a friend move. At one point, I was inside assembling boxes. I folded down the well-worn flaps of the box I was building, and as I pulled a fresh piece of packing tape off the roll, I noticed that there were many tattered and cut strips of old tape along those seams. Briefly I pictured the numerous past movers, each standing like I did, putting down fresh tape on the box's flaps. Then, at the new home, taking a knife or perhaps a pair of scissors and slicing that tape in half to open the box again. I pictured the box broken down, sitting in a basement or an attic for awhile, until it was once again reassembled and re-taped. I thought about all those journeys, all those new homes, all those life-events. I wondered how many hands had assembled, lifted, carried, then re-opened this box.
Then I pressed my new piece of tape flat, sealed up the other edge, filled the box with videotapes, and continued on with the packing.