In the bottom of a blanket box stuffed with faded terry cloth table clothes and plastic “signatures of the presidents” placemats, I find a present, hidden: Brand new cassette tapes of moments in history, in a plastic shopping bag. Why was it hidden? It is the kind of thing my mother would have bought as a gift for my father’s birthday and hidden in a place he would not look. And he didn’t look here. He didn’t open this cupboard for 24 years. And here was her gift to him from 1992.

“Let’s donate it to a school,” my Dad says.

But we can’t. No one even has the technology any more.