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The Halloween decorations were packed in a bright orange plastic tub with a green lid and green lettering declaring "Halloween." Before you become impressed with my ability to organize, let me add that the orange tub was missing a few things.

When we pack decorations from one holiday and bring out decorations for the next, we tend to forget an item or two. When we find the stray ceramic pumpkin candleholder or glow-in-the-dark skeleton doorknob hanger that was draped over a shelf after it fell off the door for the 17th time, it gets tossed into a cardboard box near the attic stairs.

For the next 12 months, the cardboard boxes get shoved here and moved there, migrating throughout attic. So after we emptied the orange tub last weekend, we realized that a few key decorations were missing in action.

"Micki, didn't we have a lighted ghost for the front porch?" Hubby asked as he sifted through the pile of wrinkled newspapers that served as packing material.

"Yes, we did. It got thrown in the Halloween cardboard box. It's in the attic."

Hubby trudged up to the attic and began shuffling boxes. Finally, with sweat pouring off his brow, he called down to me, "Where exactly is the Halloween cardboard box?"

I had no idea, but that was not the answer Hubby wanted. He needed the exact location of a box with the word "Halloween" neatly scrawled in permanent marker across the top and sides.

"Why don't you hang these pumpkin lights and I'll go up and find the box," I suggested. Considering Hubby was somewhat dehydrated and in dire need of a glass of water, he gladly climbed down the steps and turned the search over to me.

Had it been ketchup or leftover lasagna hiding in the fridge, my search would have lasted 3 seconds and Hubby would be amazed, yet again, at my ability to keep up with what's where. But the cardboard box was not so easily found in the vast, cluttered spaces of our cobwebbed attic.

I quickly narrowed my search to about 10 square feet. What stood before me was box after nonlabeled box of miscellaneous stuff thrown in the attic during occasional cleaning frenzies or furniture rearrangement brought on by the addition of a new piece.

Finding a sturdy floorboard, I sat down and began my methodical search. Like an archeologist on a dig, I unearthed many an artifact from our past. I found pictures I took as a child with my very first camera -- it took 110 film cartridges.

Next I unearthed my junior high school yearbook. Another box contained team pictures of my oldest sons' first baseball team. They were so cute at 4 and 5 years old. The next box held Christmas potholders and two snowmen that were left out of the bright red plastic tubs last January.

I tried the box under the mislabeled miscellaneous Christmas decoration box, but there were no lighted ghosts or plastic jack-o-lanterns. Instead, what I found was a collection of old letters. Some were from my late granny. She still lived in New York City when they were written during my freshman year of college. The letters still smelled of Granny's perfume.

With a lump in my throat, I began reading. To be honest, I didn't remember writing Granny. I always felt guilty for not visiting and writing more often before she passed away. But here was proof that I did write, because each letter was an answer to one I'd sent her.

An hour later, I was startled out of my journey into the past by Hubby yelling into the attic, "Micki? Are you still up there?"

I grabbed the pile of letters and scurried down the steps, apologizing for getting sidetracked. That's when Hubby admitted that he forgot I was still in the attic looking for the ghost because the kids found it in the carport when he was hanging the pumpkin lights. He was actually only looking for me because it seemed we were out of ketchup.

I went to the fridge, pulled out the ketchup, handed it to my darling Hubby, commented on how well my family decorated for Halloween, and retreated to the bedroom. I had letters to write to my other grandmother, my great aunt, Hubby's nana, and a few more relatives that were due some correspondence.

In each letter, I enclosed a freshly printed digital photo, taken with my newest camera, of our house brightly decorated for Halloween.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@earthlink.net.