I was 5 when my family moved into a new house… only the second or third one on a newly minted cul de sac. Fifty-eight years later, after the death of both our parents, my siblings and I sold it. First, though, we had to clear out every drawer, closet, pantry, and room. We spent ten days in our hometown doing so. Our childhood rooms were still intact. The diary I kept in 5th grade was still in the drawer of the bedside table in my fuschia and kelly green bedroom. My 74-year old brother found his elementary-school patrol badge in his closet. In a steamer trunk in the basement, we found our parents’ wedding cake topper. We unearthed and came face to face with hundreds of objects that represented who we - and our parents - had been in earlier stages of our lives. We didn’t want to part with many of them, but we also knew we had little room in our present lives for them. I offered to make still lifes of whatever anyone wanted to “keep."