There’s a wall of boxes in my attic that largely consists of ornaments for holidays no longer celebrated, equipment from sports no longer played, and sheets for beds that no longer exist.  I assumed this wall extended to the rear of the house but like the Burgess Shale, a sudden crap-valanche unearthed hidden treasures.  The wall was not thick through but hollow and contained the water bottle rocket launchers I couldn’t find and a collection of burettes in perfect condition.  There’s another wall of such boxes in my attic that I thought consisted of clothing and elementary school projects.  If all goes well, I’ll knock it down and find my crazy uncle Stanley’s pirate gold in there.