Major life changes reveal a lot.
Packing and moving a household shows I save more stuff than I realize. I can’t blame it all on Doug…. but I will try, of course.
So far I’ve packed the easy stuff. Actually, not easy, just accessible. It’s stuff I know must go – – like a cabinet full of china, bedding and my new red crock pot. But now I’m to the stuff that requires a decision. I need to be a decider – – love that word
I thought I’d corralled all the boys’ childhood mementos – photographs, artwork, and report cards. But another plastic tub of the stuff appeared.
I hate to admit it, but I threw quite a bit away. I figured if there is no name on it, the writing is illegible and the artwork is beyond description (in a not so good way) – then it hits the trash. Sorry boys.
What kind of mother throws away sweet, childish, hand-made treasures? Twenty, thirty years ago I wouldn’t have done such a terrible thing. Hey, times change. But I’ve kept enough to preserve for posterity and/or blackmail.
Another thing this major life event has revealed is that I am officially a senior citizen. My left knee and right shoulder are killing me. If I don’t label the box I’ve packed before I seal it I forget what’s in it. I need an intervention on my crazy book buying habit. And to make it super-duper official, I logged on the internet last night and applied for my social security benefits. Totally official now.
I found several cool pictures. My grandparents in 1939 – Dan and Gladys Bronson.
I feel it necessary to point out I did not take the above picture of my grandparents. It was taken long before my birth. Really.
Also among the box of “treasures” – pictures of me, out with co-workers at the Donald Cafe’, circa 1990. I’m actually eating that ginormous bacon cheeseburger and fries. Why on earth do I have such huge eye glasses? And where did the big, curly hair come from? I’ve been fat so long I’d forgotten I have a small dimple in my left cheek like my grandpa. I would like my dimple back. I will gladly give away the fat.
I found letters written by my first-born son during basic training at Fort Benning…and a collection of paper placemats I “borrowed” from restaurants and truck stops as we trekked back to Oregon from Alaska. I’m sure they meant for them to be taken – – I just don’t know what to do with them now.
I’m done sorting that time capsule. And my muscles are yelling at me after another day on the road, loading, and unloading. Will it ever end? I sincerely hope so.
I’m heading to bed so I can read just like I did when I was a kid.