This is the bane of my existence. This is the basement closet, both literally and figuratively. It is the receptacle of every undone project, loose photograph, incomplete pedigree chart, dusty yearbook, free floating memorabilia, and mediocre college paper. It is a complete mess and has haunted me for nearly four years. Even though the door has remained closed, just knowing that it exists cankers my soul. I'm sure in some psycho babble analysis it represents my reluctance to embrace my past, or sort out my life, or something akin to that. But this weekend, I confronted my demons and emptied the closet. I organized and categorized everything.
The process was cathartic and surprisingly sweet. I found a lot of things that conjured up wonderful memories. I found locks from each of my kids' hair. I found my 20th birthday card from Dan Heath, who is now passed on. I found a stack of birthday cards from my sweet Grandma Laynie penned in her signature scrawled penmanship. I found a Martina Navritilova autograph on a Delta airlines ticket stub. I found notes between my friends from our high school days. Then, there was the box of letters Dan wrote me from his mission, a journal containing my friends' predictions of each of our futures, high school dance pictures, concert ticket stubs, and valentines from a hysterically random mix of people.
So, the closet is conquered. I can now move on to my next obstacle. TBA
