Flashback through childhood

In May, my parents decided to sell the house that we'd moved into in the early 1990s. Over the course of the years, Chelsea and I eventually graduated and moved out, but both of us left behind boxes of the weird memorabilia you collect over the years. Homework, knick-knacks, photographs, hand-written notes to your best friend in high school Algebra. Diplomas, newspaper clippings, yearbooks, VHS tapes of media production videos.

I had about a dozen containers, from small Tupperware containers packed with notes from my college classes to big boxes with spelling bee trophies and debate team medals.

My folks finally said they weren't going to babysit all that stuff any more. (They were moving to my grandmother's house and didn't want any extra baggage.) On top of that, they said, it was my lucky day: They would hand-deliver it when they came down in early July.


I knew this day was coming, and even though I thought I had purged all I could after high school, but it was time to purge again. For two weeks, I tackled a box or two at a time. I made piles all over the living room for sentimental artifacts (1st birthday cards, letters from my mom), historical documents (You can't throw those 9/11 papers away!) and photographs.





I was surprised at the number of food-related things I found. Books filled with recipes from my third grade classmates' families (usually mothers, but that's a post for the Feminist Kitchen.), apples drawn with red crayon, (badly written) essays about popcorn.








I also found some evidence of my sprouting feminism and distrust of many of the lessons of organized religion.





Ever the pack rat, I loved going through this record of my life and it did pain me to part with some of it. (Was I really ready to throw away that football, autographed by the entire football team, from my junior year when I was nominated for homecoming queen?)

But a big part of nesting is purging, so I indulged in lightening the load.