It may have been a mistake to try to start the big project of cleaning out my craft / sewing room today. I went through several boxes and was having a hard time as it was wanting to throw away my “stuff”–the process actually made me want to start sewing, quilting, painting, and all those other creative things I used to do before I started working so much outside the home.
But then I came upon the box where I had saved all my old calendars. I saved them because they had homey, folk art pictures on them, which I had hoped to use as ideas for some of my own future masterpieces. I also saved them because I am a nostalgic pack rat.
I didn’t get much done after that. There were so many milestones etched into all those little boxes: a motorcycle accident, a lost tooth, a surgery for #2 son and another one for #1, dental appointments (lots of them!); a positive pregnancy test, a car accident, dinners with people whose names I don’t even remember, appointments with some who I have reconnected with on Facebook. I found out that my youngest son was born when I was 38, and I have been telling people for more than 10 years that I was 39. There were birthday reminders of people I have long lost touch with. Insurance payments, layoffs, weddings, flight schedules, concert bookings, the closing of a singing venue, the buying of a house. So much life. My life. Our life.
I have recently watched several videos of people who live in “tiny” houses. They are ingenious in their use of space, and many are very artistically done. But I could never do it. I am not ready quite yet to part with my memories.