My Keepsake Box

Last night as I was moving things around in the spare room to make more space for my painting stuff (including my makeshift easel, which I'm very proud of), I came across my keepsake box. My keepsakes used to be kept in a small wooden jewelery type box, but when I hit college, it wasn't really big enough to hold everything anymore. I bought a large fabric covered box with polka dotted patterns and a top. (I'm sure you're scintillated by my description of the box.) This box and all that's contained in it was one of the things that had to come with me in my car during the cross country move to New Haven. I didn't want to leave that one to the movers -- there are too many important things in there.

So when I came across it last night, there was a slight problem; it was so full of stuff that the top fell off with almost no provocation, and everything fell out. So I sat for what I thought was a half hour, but was actually more like two hours, and went through everything in there. Now, I'm kind of a pack rat. I keep things, and then later I won't remember what it meant or why I kept it. So since I do this, I thought it was time to toss things like that.

I didn't allow myself a lot of reminiscing for some things -- stuff from my last relationship, I glossed over (since getting into those feelings again is a dangerous game), but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of any of it. Once I got through that stuff and the most recent stuff (a few recent ticket stubs and a few notes), though, I couldn't stop the flood of memories. I kept things like movie ticket stubs, high school notes, letters, pictures, a parking stub (from when Colin and I spent six hours in my car right before Christmas, parked in downtown Bangor), a couple of emails that are lost electronically, old school IDs, pictures, programs, certificates, and an old Fiddler on the Roof script from music camp. There were pictures of me with Jazz Choir in high school, me and my two high school boyfriends, getting ready for formal dances, some of me and my friends at the end of my freshman year in college, visiting my parents, Colin, and my sisters at the Berklee Jazz Festival my sophomore year (which was just two days before I was admitted to the GW Hospital with appendicitis), as well as pictures from when I was very, very young. I added some of the pictures to a photo album my dad made me, which is now about half full. There are even some clothes in there. A t-shirt from my first Berklee festival, when our jazz choir finished 4th out of more than 100 choirs. The dress I wore to Colin's house in 8th grade, after a concert we were both in, that he says he remembers because that was when he fell in love with me all those years ago.

All this reminiscing was very timely, actually, in more ways than one. I had looked at the album recently, and thought that there needed to be more photos in there -- especially since I keep the album out on the coffee table for everyone to see. And with my visit to Meredith a few days ago, I was full of nearly forgotten memories. Talking with Mer, we talked about amazing things that had nearly been lost in both our minds. Quotes, movies we watched, celebrations we had, weather, classes, professors, people we once knew, jobs, stress, and joy.

It's odd, feeling bathed in memories and my past, especially when I've moved on, and come so far. It's not something I can do often -- I go through that box rarely. But it was the first time since Colin had gotten married, since I had emotionally moved on from my last relationship, since I rediscovered some of my old high school friendships, since I had embarked on a new path in my life, in my job, in my love life. It was time. And now, after adding pictures, tossing the random and sundry items away, after reading notes and letters, I'm closing the box and finding a spot for it, still adding things when I have to, but keeping it shut until it gets too full again.