My mom found a box of my things in a back closet of their house. They moved out of my childhood house the week I got married (actually, both of my childhood houses: mom's and dad's, were sold the week of my wedding). Mom had shipped some of my things a couple of weeks before the fire. A few more things she sent shortly afterward, knowing that I would be glad to have some of my old things. Had she known about this box, I'm sure she would have shipped it then as well. I'm kind of glad she waited.
I love my things, if that isn't obvious from this blog and from the enormous grief I felt when I lost everything. I miss being able to go into my garage and rummage through an old box and laugh about high school letters. I miss having the tangible items that remind me of moments I wouldn't otherwise remember. This small box reminded me how important it is to have these things.
Inside was a velvet rabbit that sat in my room most of my childhood. It's a perfect addition to my Christmas decor. I don't even know who gave it to me. It reminds me of The Velveteen Rabbit and my fear of loving my stuffed animals too much for fear something would happen to them. Stories have always been so real to me.
The box also contained a number of old cards, several of which were from my 16th birthday. Were it not for those cards, I wouldn't be able to tell you that I attended the Warped Tour in Boise that year. Have I mentioned how much I love cards?
I also got a number of things from my academic life. I was always a good student, and I've always been a writer. I have a sick fascination with my standardized test scores, and I loved looking over my eighth grade tests. My favorite item from the box was my illustrated Three Little Pigs booklet. I was never very good at art, and the disconnect between my creative writing talents and my drawing is somewhat embarrassing.
I spent yesterday reading through my high school creative writing journals and even being a little taken aback by my observations. I loved writing poetry then, and I am thankful to have these books to look back on.
I also have several composition notebooks for books I *read* in high school (Cliff Notes count, right?!).
And my mom found copies of my high school newspaper, where I was the editor for two years.
I am saddened about losing so many of my yearbooks, so I'm glad that she found these as well. There is nothing like compiling a list of ancient phone numbers from your friends in first grade!
And my high school graduation cap and honor cord.
I have a life of memories in just one box. And that was the box of the things I didn't think were that important, that I left with my mom because I couldn't justify sending them all over. Perspective is a funny thing. Because of the fire, everything in that box has more significance, more relevance than it would have otherwise had.