A home is a place where you can come back to your memories. My mother preserved them very well. For example, you may recall a past blog about Nutella and how I brought some back from my trip to France in 1998. Apparently I wasn't excited enough about it to actually finish the jar (or I was trying to conserve it; I've learned not to do that anymore. Life's too short to save chocolate.) And, I think, rather thoughtfully, my mom never threw that jar away. There it was, still on the shelf where I left it ten years ago. Sort of gross, yes, but it does bring back memories and feelings I'd long left behind about that time of life. To prove that it's the real thing, check out the back of the jar, highlighting France's World Cup players--they won, 1998!
Among other memorable finds are old child-made Christmas decorations-- the silhouette of the wisemen that I pasted on tinfoil in first grade, the dough art nativity scene I made and painted. I've found barretts I used in preschool, magazines from before I was born, the "Praise the Lord" newsletters that Laura and Carl ordered and got in the mail. There were the frosting roses off of Laura and Kim's wedding cake (the same summer as the Nutella), old handy dandy Tom Wat showcase boxes. And on and on, because for a mid-sized house, we've got storage space. There are a variety of opinions on pack-rattishness, but whatever it is, who can deny the glory of reminising?
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