The Emergency Box

When I was young, my grandmother had what she called The Emergency Box. Now, as ominous as that sounds, it wasn't for fire, flood, or ice storm, but rather for little girls who needed something to do.

It was a large gray shoebox, but the treasures inside made it glow and sparkle from its spot in the guest bedroom closet. Construction paper, the Sunday comics, Burpee seed catalogs, maybe a Sears wishbook left over from Christmas, odd pieces of cardboard from shirts, glue, and scissors. Sometimes there might be other things, like scraps of yarn or rubber bands.

I made paperdolls out of the models in the Sears catalogs, fancy placecards for holiday dinners, and countless useless things for my Barbies. And, of course, the artwork flowed like wine. It was a box of possibilities.

I don't know how it got its name. I don't know if my grandmother had an Emergency Box for my mother and her sister when they were growing up. I need to find these things out.

For some reason this morning, I began thinking about The Emergency Box. I hadn't thought about it in years. Maybe I should make my own Emergency Box, for when my own creativity is feeling low. What would go in it?