I am a big hoarder. (Hoping to make it “was” one of these days). I hoard scraps of papers, pieces of cloth and tons of memories. It is heartbreaking when the mother insists I should downsize. And I can never conjure up a logical response to that.
Today, I cleaned out 18 years of my childhood memories. Greeting cards I had longed tucked away, dusty post-it notes and other tokens of my childhood. A stuffed dog that I held onto when I was scared of the dark, a piece of wood I had foraged from a neighbor for a craft project in school and cardboard sheets that I’d hoped to place on the fake currency notes of my once-favorite board game.
It was an afternoon I was dreading. And much to my surprise, it went off quite well.
The fingers were a little hesitant in the beginning. But as I held each item in my hand, it brought back a flood of memories and those egged me further. I lingered a little while longer on certain memories while I happily trashed some of the others.
All in all, it was an afternoon of happy reminiscences.