I believe that we two have lately collected a layer of corrugated cardboard sufficient to confuse archaeologists 300 years from now.

It seems that once we’ve retrieved the Item from our porch box and the Item is found to be satisfactory, we are left with the task of choosing how we might store the Item and its traveling companions — to wit, the packaging: perhaps Styrofoam, or brown paper or those everlasting foam peanuts or — best of all — an exotic newspaper like the Arizona Republic or Toronto Star.

And then there’s the box itself. Its disposal can present etiquette problems: how can I discard something that was “proudly printed by T. Wilson and crew.”

The Item safely stowed, we then begin the usual conversation of how and where to store the box and the remainder of its wood-pulp family. I feel guilty discarding Styrofoam, especially if good engineering was involved in those complex pieces. And lately, even cleverer tricks appear in the no-foam Chinese-puzzle packaging someone devised to protect a coffee maker.

“Ooo,” says Natalie. “That box will just fit the artificial flowers I bought.” She is further enamored with the sheets and strips of clear polyethylene bubble wrap. These, in their abundance, are impossible to store but nevertheless destined to cushion the gifts my beloved likes to send out to her nine hundred friends and relations.

Also notable is a huge cardboard creation containing a now-forgotten Item, possibly a vacuum cleaner. “That box,” we mused, “would comfortably accommodate a six-foot china ballerina, an accessory no home should be without.”

Had we ever seen a 6-foot china ballerina? Yes, in fact. Two of them once graced the show window at M.S. Rau, the world’s greatest antique store on Royal Street in New Orleans. Then the ladies went to their forever home, which we speculated was not styled in Danish Modern.

All of which fails to mention that Natalie, the world’s neatest person, has allowed alluvial layers of cardboard to accumulate. That is because I’m still too sick to help with the significant labor required to clear out the corrugated handiwork of T. Wilson and crew. She says she still loves me and I suppose that proves it.

Mark Kinsler, kinsler33@gmail.com, lives with Natalie and a pair of emergency cats in our much-beleaguered little house in Lancaster. He is feeling much better lately.