On this last day of 2012, I am revisiting the Tomorrow Trunk. As momentary and fleeting as the years may seem, the first manuscript of the Tomorrow Trunk was drafted twenty years ago in 1993. The Tomorrow Trunk was copyrighted in 1999, and I completely re-drafted the original text in 2005 after Hurricane Katrina and wrote the story from a child's perspective. I started blogging about the process at the advice of a literary agent on October 19, 2010. Parts of the Tomorrow Trunk have been read to and read by thousands of people over the years. I have read the children's stories at schools and libraries. I have shared the journaling/storytelling/writing process with book clubs and creative writing classes. Plus, I have spoken to various adult groups about the importance of recording today's best stories.
And yet, the Tomorrow Trunk is not just a manuscript you hold in your hand or read on a page. For me, the Tomorrow Trunk is the invisible family member at the table, the unseen observer in the room, and the surprise witness ready to testify an accurate account of the most important story of the day. The Tomorrow Trunk has taken on a life of its own. On days like today, I reach for something deep inside its internal parts. Almost immediately, I am connected. I am crying, or laughing, or pausing. Most importantly, I feel immortal ~ as if what I am experiencing is not subject to loss, or time, or death.
In that moment, I fully understand the enduring value of the Tomorrow Trunk. Even while everything around us changes, stories are never-ending. When summoned, these stories that we tuck away have a phoenix-like spirit that resurrects right within our midst.
So as an old year dissolves and a new year evolves, I resolve to be immortal ~ perennial, everlasting, evergreen. Just take today, tuck the best of it away, and keep it for tomorrow.
Happy 2013!
Dianne ; )
THE TOMORROW TRUNK
On the day I was born, my momma gave me the tomorrow trunk.
She gave my two sisters the tomorrow trunk when they were born,
but their trunks are not like mine.
No one has a tomorrow trunk like me.
The tomorrow trunk is always different for every child.
I take the tomorrow trunk with me wherever I go.
I can not leave it behind or forget about it.
The tomorrow trunk is never full.
There is always room for something new.
The tomorrow trunk does not have any toys in it,
but it does have surprise birthday parties
and midnight visits from Santa Claus.
There is no money in the trunk,
but there are trips to the ice cream shop,
(thanks to the Tooth Fairy)
and a summer’s worth of dreams
at a lemonade stand.
It does not have a bike in it, but it has a bunch of bumps and bruises,
two skinned knees, and one bad wreck (that was my sister’s fault).
It does not have a baseball or a bat, but it has that one bad call,
and my first over-the-fence homerun,
and my sister’s purple shiner (that was my fault).
The tomorrow trunk does not have any books either, but it has lots of stories.
Scary tales and fairytales, bedtime stories and secrets.
It has stories stacked up high like the tower of dirty dishes
after Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma’s house –
that disappear before breakfast the next morning.
The tomorrow trunk is never full, but it is stuffed
with March winds for flying kites,
the smell of skunk spray so bad that it burns your eyes,
the buzz of a chimney full of bees,
the light of a hundred fireflies in a jar,
and the best scream ever!
(Thanks to one big bullfrog in my sister’s bed.)
The tomorrow trunk never loses anything.
It remembers the names of eighteen dogs, ten cats,
and two turtles that will always be my best friends.
It holds the best days spent in a seven story tree house,
a sunflower house in Grandma's garden,
and a real house that disappeared in a day.
My momma says that the tomorrow trunk is what we make it.
She says that what we do – not what we have – is what we carry with us.
We just take today, tuck the best of it away, and keep it for tomorrow.
Then, when we have to say good night to today,
the tomorrow trunk is always there…
and best of all, it is always mine.
Copyright 1999/Revised 2010, Dianne B. McLaurin.
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