I found a high school poetry binder (one of many) and so I thought I would regale you so that your comments can push me through my remaining four boxes today. I wrote this one about myself when I was 16.
The Actress
The house is full
As the lights dim
The crowd quiets in anticipation
The stage lights go up
Brighter, and brighter, and brighter
But they still do not match her smile
She basks in the glory
The audience applauds
It is a role she seldom portrays
Yet she polishes it with ease
Standing ovation
The lights dim
Her eyes cloud
Her smile fades
The people leave
A scream in the silence
As the darkness swallows her again
Apparently I was trying my hand at French translations of hymns in that notebook, too.
A story I wrote in 7th grade called “Sophomore to Senile” and it was dedicated to the “high school sweethearts who got married and stayed married until they died.”
If you were irritated by my posts yesterday, go ahead and block me now because I still have 2 1/2 boxes to go and I don’t know what today has in store!
I just decided to take a picture of my mom as a girl out of the frame and toss the frame. On the back of the photo was a hand written note that her eyes were gray, her hair was blonde and the dress was pale yellow. So they would know how to colorize this black and white photo. Crazy!
Another story that won an award in 8th grade. “When All the Melodies Run Out”. Here’s the opening three paragraphs:
“Dr. Henderson, I feel that I thoroughly understand myself, and I see no need to continue these sessions, ” I said with dignified confidence.
“Ah, ah, ah, Tommy. Such big words for a ten year old. Besides, don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, you should discuss this with your parents? After all, they are the ones paying for this.”
Dr. Henderson was a seasoned old man. He had dark hair and graying temples. His penetrating blue eyes were almost hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses. He was also very logical, which at times, could be infuriating.
Sigh. One of those boxes were framed family photos that I never unpacked from when we moved here a decade ago.
Am also grateful for my brief stint of ordering CDs with photos in 2011. Those 20 packages are so much more manageable than the rest of the mess of loose photos shoved into a bag that I will have to go through later.
I was so excited to get on facebook and tell you all that I was DONE! And that it all fits into four boxes now, three of which can actually close! But then I remembered I also have an entire dresser with drawers stuffed only with family history stuff (who needs clothes?) and a pile of scrapbooks that belonged to my grandmother next to my bed.
I just opened up one scrapbook that was filled with greeting cards my great grand had pasted in. I thought it would be a shame to throw this away. But I checked every single card for every occasion in this gargantuan scrapbook and there isn’t a unique sentiment in there at all. Just signed names on beautiful old cards. Besides a first name, there is no identifying information. In the back, though there are other loose letters and clippings. I thought maybe I should keep some of those. But the first newspaper clipping I pull out is an article about a 5 year old girl in Peru who gave birth to a five pound baby and people are offering to have her come tour the US. Methinks not.
Here’s another one:
Des Moines, Ia. Sept 23–AP
Here’s a milkman who is allergic to cows.
Everett Erickson was getting along all right with the bossies on his dairy farm near here until about five years ago.
Then he began to wheeze and sneeze. He finally went to Rochester, Minn., where they told him association with the milk manufacturers was the cause of his trouble.
Everett feels swell now–as long as he stays away from cows. Milk in the bottle doesn’t bother him, however, and he is making a living driving a milk truck.
Headline: “Eerie Girl, 6, Ends Fourth Year of Sleep”
This is the good old days when, apparently, legitimate journalism resembled modern day tabloids.
Ok. I’m keeping one postcard written by my grand when she was little and three empty envelopes because they have different addresses from my great grand that I never knew. There are four pencil sketches that are really quite remarkable but I don’t know who did them. Toss or keep?
In case you didn’t know, I was always boy crazy. In fact I just found two photos of me with my arms around my 5 year old crush, John. I also found a diary from 1983. Here are the first two lines.
“Today I made this diary it was fun. In the back is my boy chart.”
I think it was like supposed to an excel spreadsheets with rankings and compatibility requirements.
Hardest thing I’m so far. Elementary scrap book filled with certificates and awards for spelling bees, sharing, no detentions, weekly acknowledgment of no missing assignments, GPPA honor choir participation, improvement in handwriting, etc… I might be tempted to save a few but they are glued into a HUGE thick scrapbook that is mostly empty.
I put them in the trash but saved the more meaningful ones from high school.
Ok. I’m at the tail end of things, but losing steam fast. So I thought I would pause for a moment to find another poem I could bare to share. So this one is dedicated to all my fans still following my decluttering saga today.
Like the she-lion
Viciously guarding her precious cubs
Security flashes strong, razor-sharp teeth
Already dripping with the crimson blood
Of those who dared to pick the lock
To the door
Where everyone’s secret heart
Is deeply buried
And just as that she-lion
Returns to nourish and warm her young,
Security is there
To gently encircle the doubting
With self-esteem and vigor
And assuringly kiss the fears away
I don’t want to brag, but my English teacher wrote “Excellent” in red pen on this one.
OH MY GOSH. Pop Quiz for anyone who knew me my freshman year of high school!
I wrote a letter to an author. The concluding paragraph reads thus:
“That enabled me to mature. That story became a movie on which I would base the rest of the my life.”
Can you name that movie?
P.S. I got a nice letter back from the author’s assistant saying the writer couldn’t answer personally but giving me background on the story.
Scariest Find of the Day (except for that one old binder I opened up that was filled with infested bugs that had died there):
A letter from some guy I have no memory of knowing. Letter opens up with “A.D. Hey what’s up? Well as for me all right I guess. So as you were asking me about if I ever regret shooting that guy well sometimes I do regret it but I really think he deserved it but he really wasn’t worth me doing all this time for.” Yeah, checked the front of the envelope and the return address doesn’t look like a regular old home address. The letter ends with him asking me for my phone number so he can call me sometime.
Trash.
I am freaking amazing! I just finished all that family history de-cluttering. I took a second pass through that box of correspondence because the first time I had just checked the return address to see who it was from. But this time I decided to go through and actually see what the person said. I loved reading all the sweet notes from many of you here on facebook one last time. And then I threw them away.
Now I am down to just two completely stuffed boxes that almost shut. And one more that might possibly shut when I get rid of picture frames. Do you hear that? I went from 9 boxes and two heaping laundry baskets and several piles and stacks around my bedroom PLUS an entire dresser DOWN TO THREE BOXES.
I can’t even believe it.
sparkling blue 