We spent time a couple of weekends ago cleaning out the garage (well, I say we - I was in more of a supervisory role. The guys would unearth things and I'd be the arbiter of whether we are keeping it or sending it off to DI.) What the heck - we've owned this house for 9 1/2 years, perhaps it's time to unpack the last of the boxes.
We found a bunch of unfinished craft projects - some that I really should finish. I quilted some pillow fronts that are a desert scene that I would just need to add a back to, and I found a treasure trove of cross-stitching books and fabric (and thread, but that may not be retrievable at this point).
Daniel also recovered a planner that I had from 1994, the year before Roger and I met. (Also the year that I found myself writing free-form poetry a lot.) I dove into memories and got lost for a bit - I miss writing like that. This journal is a great way to keep friends and family notified, and lets me do a little playing around with words, but it's not really the same.
Reading my old stuff reminded me of who I used to be - at the time, I still thought of myself as temporary, anticipating that I'd be moving again soon, having a lot of friends, but no real relationships. Now, I've lived here in Portland long enough to consider it home (heck, I bought a home - definitely a change from the girl who was living in a one-room studio, and only spent long enough there to change clothes and grab a quick sleep.) Roger and I have been together 18 years and counting (married for 14), and I really can't think of myself without also picturing him anymore.
Maybe I don't miss the old me as much as I thought I did. I wouldn't trade my memories for
anything, but I wouldn't want to go back there either.
 |
| Me Then |
 |
| Me Now |
No comments:
Post a Comment