Memories or How My Old Room Was Full of Crap

I am not a pack rat.

Not even close to one. I despise all forms of piles, whether they be necessary or not and have no problem donating (ahem, trashing) my items. With two moves in the last 7 months, I can say that I have successfully sorted and cleaned every drawer, closet, box and cubby that we own.

Except for three large Sterilite tubs.

They are not mine and I do not have permission to go through them. (If any of you want to remind Ronnie that they are sitting in the garage, please do so).

Unfortunately, since I permanently moved out of my parents’ house in 2002, I had not gone through the closet of my old room.

Last night I took on that task.

I determined that I was a little bit more of a pack rat then, than I am now.

I threw away no less than three large, black garbage bags full of things like:

All of the letters I had ever received from a missionary (note: I did not send off any missionaries, so these were all just friends.)

A binder full of love letters from my 9th grade boyfriend.

No less than 100 empty CD cases (why I saved these I’ll never know).

Various trinkets that were given by old friends but had been melted or completely faded by the sun.

Three empty boxes (again, what?)

Not just one, but FIVE fuzzy notebooks (you know, the kind that are popular with the preteens).

And many, MANY more insignificant items. I don’t want you to think that I am heartless and don’t care about anything—I did keep many memory filled items as well.

Now all I have to do is sort through the large basket of old birthday cards and my cleaning will be complete. (Let’s all pray that I find some long-lost money in there!)