- A paper I wrote on Genomic Analysis, U of MN, 1993, including phrases like "electrophoresis of the charged palindromic sequences of DNA" and "proving species variance directly correlating with distance between lakes of origin"
- An album of photos I took of little sister Emma, 14 months old. I was 12, and obsessed with making sure her outfits matched perfectly
- A Macmillan English first grade reader and workbook, half completed
- A homemade cabbage patch doll, from the Christmas that my dad was unemployed. My mom spent much of that holiday season in her sewing room.
- A wooden doll from Japan, my dad went when I was 7
- A bin of blankets, none of which belong to me, all of which smell of mothballs
- A box of knick-knacks I have never seen before including: a yarn doll, a hideous pink ceramic heart, and a wooden toll painted necklace strung on a blue ribbon, and much much more
- A box of mugs, only one that I recognize, the rest have either cheesy winter scenes or looney tunes characters on them (including the Tasmanian devil, so I know they weren't mine.... Amy.)
- A file box of notes from former students
- No fewer than 12 boxes of books
- a bookshelf that holds 3 boxes of books
- A box of props and costumes from shows I have done including: dress from Music Man, lei and coke bottle from South Pacific, Magic Wand from Wizard of OZ (I was Glinda!), scroll from Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe, peasant costume from The Mouse that Roared, flowers from Brigadoon, knitting from The Tears of my Sister, script from The Happy Journey to Camden and Trenton, my "lucky" owl necklace from the year I went to state in speech, earrings and cigar from the Best Christmas Pageant Ever
- 2 boxes of music books
- Portfolio of drawings from Angsty teenage years through cheesy BYU years
- A Precious Moments journal from my freshman year (high school) including confessions of undying love for boys whose names I no longer recognize
- 1 box of baby clothes (mine) including the "Mommy's Angel" dress and a "#1 daughter" onesie. Proof positive that I was the favorite daughter for at least the first 6 months of my life.
- A lampshade
- Box of crystal stemware packed in an odd assortment of dishtowels. I needed some dishtowels.
- Cookie jar (empty, I checked)
- A file of Papers I wrote at BYU and one fairly impressive Sacrament Meeting talk entitled "Faith in Love"
- Pancake Griddle
- Yearbooks, all of them.
- My "rejection" file, of rejection letters and grad program attemps, along with jury pages and audition sheets from failed attempts. I really was trying to leave that bit of my life behind.
- Silver American Ballroom Standard Pin and certificate
- A Troll Doll, dressed in pink lace and a tin foil crown, in an attempt to replicate my Glinda Costume. This was surely a great treasure from the time when troll dolls were "cute"
- A bin of Scrapbooking supplies and Mission memories, clearly assembled when I had an intention of scrapbooking my mission.
- Every toy or Stuffed animal I ever owned, including a set of kittens made out of rabbit fur that used to be my mom's, a doll I called "Tommy" that cried when you pulled the string on it's back, "Baby Beans" (we were as inseparable as Red Blankie and myself) and various Strawberry Shortcake Paraphernalia
- An unfinished Toll Painting project involving teddy bears and peppermint swirls
- one box of various useless paraphernalia from my Young Women's experience, including all of the paperwork (completed) for the YW recognition award that I never received
- 8 more boxes and 2 suitcases that I haven't yet opened. (should I keep you updated?)
The list goes on, but I think you get the picture. I have officially been moved out. Past the point of no return, as it were. I now have less stuff at my parent's house than my married with 4-7 children siblings do. In fact, I am pretty sure, I have some of their stuff at my place now. So here goes a call to them: If you desperately want your WST t-shirts, your blankets, or to explore memory lane for a while, my door is open. But I will force you to take a box of it with you.
The interesting thing about a walk down memory lane, inspired by unwanted junk, is that you don't get to choose the memories. Generally when we stroll through our minds, we do quite a good job at editing. Sure there are still unpleasantries, but they are kept at bay, and the worst of them are suppressed. But when you open any box from your parent's storage space, beware the ensuing hours of discovery! The pathos is overwhelming. You could discover that you have been, at various points in your life, both more pathetic and more remarkable than your memory allows you. You could come to the terrible realization that you were, in fact, just as silly at 14 as the fourteen yr old you see at the mall. You could be faced with a wash of memories that you finally have the experience to comprehend, and in that moment, you will realize that you surmounted formidable mountains, with more than mere survival, with grace. You may even find that you have outgrown a few of those skeletons in your closet, and where a few years ago they seemed to fill the room, now it is a simple thing to sweep them away. Your heart might ache a little for the person you were, once upon a time, but the void will quickly be filled with rejoicing for the path that you have been privileged to walk.
7 comments:
First of all, you are 23 months older than me, which means you were the favorite daughter for 14 months. ;) :P (Can't resist the occasional use of silly smilies).
Second of all, I had precisely one box left at mom's and dad's when I got married. I know the "moved out" feeling. Dad kindly volunteered to find a trailer the week before my wedding and drag all of my stuff into the apartment that we had rented and T had already moved into. I can't say my over-the-top neat husband was thrilled to see boxes labeled "memories" dropped into his very neatly organized apartment. That one box I had left was of kitchen utencils that SIL had given me for Christmas years earlier, and it was buried too deep to be dug out.
I'm curious whose blankets those are, because mom was sure they were yours. Hm, for Christmas this year, we need to have one big "stuff" party. Everyone bring all the stuff you don't want/isn't yours/not sure where it came from and we'll claim what we want and DI the rest. I have maternity clothes that I know were not ever mine.
I LOVE reading your blog. You are such a good writer, I just write blah, blah...but you should have been an English major instead of music. I love the list of stuff they brought you. I was just going through boxes at my mom's house and this brought back memories of my own stuff. :)
Hear, hear! You have voice, which is something a lot of people who do major in English never achieve or have beaten out of them.
I've been weeding out my (s)crapbook boxes over the last couple of months, and I have had somewhat the same experience. Journal entries pining over Jared and pictures from my baptism. And, oddly, a whole lot of Batman stuff. Imagine that. ;-)
Oh and I am not saying everything you listed is junk. Just mothball blankets, cheesy mugs (minus the Taz one) and scary troll dolls.
My comment looks weird because it did not post my first comment. It was long and I do not have time to retype it. Short of it was - Sometimes someone gives us "keepsakes" to remove the guilt they would have of throwing something away. For items like that, relive the memory, toss it ,and then say :You're welcome!
And troll dolls are creepy. I actually don't remember a taz mug, but he is still the coolest
of all the looney tunes characters, and I probably would remember it if I saw it.
Where are you going to put all that stuff? Soeaking of which, it's quite conincidental that Bryan and Larry cleaned out our garage on Saturday (so hopefully we can actually park our car in it when it snows.) We have your book shelf if you want it back, and a box of dishes / strawberry shortcake doll / other miscellaneous things that are yours.
Congratulations on receiving "visitor status" at your parents' house. Having your parents decide you are ready for all that means they don't expect you back.
I'll clarify like J did on the one point - A doesn't have anything he is aware of at your parents' house. They brought it all to us after we moved into our first house. Most of it, including an old green backpack filled with trinkets of all types, stayed in our garage - and when it moved with us, it was placed on a hook on the garage wall, where it still remains, infested with spiders. If there is still something of his there, let me know.
You got a homemade Cabbage Patch for Christmas, too? Did it have a soft head? I got teased over that one by all my friends. It apparently wasn't a REAL one, according to them. It is so funny how many of the same toys we had. I always enjoy it when you reminisce - it conjours up all sorts of memories for me.
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