the memory box

This morning I sorted through a box of sentimental junk.   I do this periodically.  I throw out stuff that doesn't hold the same meaning as it used to.   I'm still upset that I accidentally threw out a box of letters a few years ago, but I've never missed anything that I've lost.

It's all gone now into a clear 10L plastic box, which is only half full (though, I've got a feeling there's more in the garage).  The cockroaches can't get it, and it's a limit to how much I can keep.  I have an identical box for special pieces of the boys' artwork and first handwriting etc.  I threw out a few things that I have no idea why I kept them.

They stack nicely in the top of my wardrobe, with a third box of old toys that belonged to my late father.  They are over fifty years old, and some are still in their original condition (hmm... maybe the hoarding is genetic?), and I'm not sure what to do with them.  Mum held on to them because she thinks they could be worth a bit of money, and some are probably worth displaying.  I guess I should do some investigating, because I don't know if I need them hanging out in the top of my wardrobe!

I haven't really kept much sentimental stuff for a long time, maybe because I'm semi-conscious that I've thrown out quite a bit over time.  Most of what I had kept was from my last few years of high school, and my years spent teaching, both bittersweet periods, more so than any other time.  In fact, all that I've put in their over the last few years has been the clips from my babies' umbilical cords!   Maybe I'll need to downgrade to an even smaller box in the next few years?