My junk
In packing, I've had the opportunity over the last few days to take a few long, good looks at my junk.
My mother hates junk. She can't stand it. She has mass quantities of it that she doesn't know what to do with, and as a result, every hidden inch of her house is full of junk. There are random piles of junk in closets, under beds, and so forth.
Lately she has been on a de-junking spree (And by lately, I mean throughout the last twenty one years. The junk just keeps catching up with her). She is a thrower outer. And day-um, she's good at it. She can throw out anything. It's amazing. But still, the junk catches up with her.
I was looking at my junk today and wondering if the people who helped me amass these random articles know what they really mean to me.
Like the jewelry box Big Brother got me while in Afghanistan. Does he know that every time I see it, I think of him over there in the desert? That I wonder, of all times in his life, how could he have stopped to think of his sister, safe and sound down on the ranch?
Or the pillow that my mother gave me from her trip to England. Does she know that I think of her every time I look at it? Does the Berry Queen know that every time I look at that pillow, I think of the day the first Berry Boy Baby was born? And as a result, I end up spending ten to fifteen minutes smiling on the memories that her beautiful Berry Babies have given me? And that now that the fifth Berry Baby is on his or her way, I spend an extra five minutes wondering on the memories I'll get to make with him or her?
Does Biggest Big Brother know that when I look at the pictures I keep of his son, I see nothing but perfection, and I see everything the world should be in that boy? And does my sister in law know that when I see the pictures of my neice above the toaster oven that she and my brother gave me, I see everything that peace and wonder should be?
Do my four boys know that when I see the picture I keep of them, I think of all the times they've made me so angry that I could rip my hair out by the roots? And that subsequently, I think of all the times that they have been the one and only heroes I've ever wanted? And that my world would simply cease to exist without them?
Does my Dad know that every time I see the half of a wooden log that he gave me for Copernicus, I think of how sweet it is for him to be concerned over whether or not my kitten has a proper scratching post? Does he know that it makes my heart smile to think of him finding the undoubtedly most perfect log there is, and cutting it with such care, and making damn sure that it isn't one of those pesky Manitoba Maples?
Does my best friend know that every time I see the gorgeous blanket she hand crocheted me, I think of her and how she has been there for every Earth Shattering moment in my life? Does she know that I couldn't stand to have become the person I am without her?
So, my junk.
Moving day is a mere three days away. I have about twenty boxes packed, and most of them have the words "random junk" written on them in black Magic Marker. (Actually, it's a no name marker that I bought in a value pack of four in the impulse buy section two years ago.) Random junk it will remain, though, because in along with those articles of random junk are the articles that remind me every day of what is important.
I simply can't part with in.
Toonses
My mother hates junk. She can't stand it. She has mass quantities of it that she doesn't know what to do with, and as a result, every hidden inch of her house is full of junk. There are random piles of junk in closets, under beds, and so forth.
Lately she has been on a de-junking spree (And by lately, I mean throughout the last twenty one years. The junk just keeps catching up with her). She is a thrower outer. And day-um, she's good at it. She can throw out anything. It's amazing. But still, the junk catches up with her.
I was looking at my junk today and wondering if the people who helped me amass these random articles know what they really mean to me.
Like the jewelry box Big Brother got me while in Afghanistan. Does he know that every time I see it, I think of him over there in the desert? That I wonder, of all times in his life, how could he have stopped to think of his sister, safe and sound down on the ranch?
Or the pillow that my mother gave me from her trip to England. Does she know that I think of her every time I look at it? Does the Berry Queen know that every time I look at that pillow, I think of the day the first Berry Boy Baby was born? And as a result, I end up spending ten to fifteen minutes smiling on the memories that her beautiful Berry Babies have given me? And that now that the fifth Berry Baby is on his or her way, I spend an extra five minutes wondering on the memories I'll get to make with him or her?
Does Biggest Big Brother know that when I look at the pictures I keep of his son, I see nothing but perfection, and I see everything the world should be in that boy? And does my sister in law know that when I see the pictures of my neice above the toaster oven that she and my brother gave me, I see everything that peace and wonder should be?
Do my four boys know that when I see the picture I keep of them, I think of all the times they've made me so angry that I could rip my hair out by the roots? And that subsequently, I think of all the times that they have been the one and only heroes I've ever wanted? And that my world would simply cease to exist without them?
Does my Dad know that every time I see the half of a wooden log that he gave me for Copernicus, I think of how sweet it is for him to be concerned over whether or not my kitten has a proper scratching post? Does he know that it makes my heart smile to think of him finding the undoubtedly most perfect log there is, and cutting it with such care, and making damn sure that it isn't one of those pesky Manitoba Maples?
Does my best friend know that every time I see the gorgeous blanket she hand crocheted me, I think of her and how she has been there for every Earth Shattering moment in my life? Does she know that I couldn't stand to have become the person I am without her?
So, my junk.
Moving day is a mere three days away. I have about twenty boxes packed, and most of them have the words "random junk" written on them in black Magic Marker. (Actually, it's a no name marker that I bought in a value pack of four in the impulse buy section two years ago.) Random junk it will remain, though, because in along with those articles of random junk are the articles that remind me every day of what is important.
I simply can't part with in.
Toonses
posted by Amanda at 23:44
3 Comments:
Ah, if only all my junk could be tied to lovely memories! Some can but most is very new junk from ambitions of scrapbooking and they're still waiting for their chance with me.
I have so many ideas but the implementing of them--ah, there's the rub!
I hope you'll take pics of your new abode when you're all set up!
Amanda you almost made me cry! It is so touching to see how much you love your family and the fact that you's are so close, it is rare that a family these days get along so well with the way the world is today. I would not concider any of that stuff junk, bt think of it as memories of your life and tresure them for one day that is what they will be just memories. You are blessed and be greatful that you have so many people that love and care about you! Anyhow have fun with your berries this summer and remember if some of the poeple get angry with you just smaile and be pleasant because that will erk them more than having a fight with them! Take care....
I love junk, and I liked reading about your memories! (P.s. Don't buy me junk though- I still haven't figured out what to do with my unpacked box and suitcase (I moves 6 months ago). ;) lol
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