On the beach, pebbles and even shards of glass wash in and out until they are worn smooth and ready to be collected as treasures by the next bather. Driftwood and even the less pleasant detritus of civilization also float in and out. Mounds of seaweed are deposited and then sometimes pulled back in by the surf.
And so our family’s shores are subject to this rhythmic and cyclical ebb and flow of stuff–of clothes, of toys, of the paraphernalia of rearing children. Recently, my wife and I made a concerted effort to fling bags of clothes and toys along with a high chair and more back into the endless sea of new and expecting parents.