Bittersweet Symphony
2004-08-18 at 1:43 p.m.
Box O' Memories
He came, we went to zoo, he slept a whole lot, he left. Poor sweetie. He should take his days off to sleep.
Aidan couldn't look at the giraffes, because he was busy taking a call.
He brought with him my so-called "memory box," into which I used to throw, literally, everything. A lot of stuff I don't even remember.
So, in the interest of posterity, I will hereby catalogue some of them. I'm hoping someday I have a grandchild or something who would care (I know if I could read my grandma's diary, I totally would).
I saved this because my event was the "but one."
A high school cap. I used to have one that Janet Evans signed, who was the dorky girl they were interviewing when the bomb went off in Atlanta, but it got hot and smushed together or something, I think I threw it away.
The one on the left is my sophomore/junior year journal, the one on the right is one they gave to write in when we were at church. Not much different, are they?
There's only 4 entries in the church one, because I didn't go very much, although I did go to seminary everyday, because
My senior year boyfriend, Johnny, made that. Seminary for Mormons is like a class everyday before school, or, if you're in marching band, after school. We still went after even after marching season was over because we had a cooler teacher and we were friends, across class lines (before school classes were separated by your year). And we played fun games like this:
Johnny also made me this lovely valentine:
But anyway, the best journals are big notebooks, like this
I can't find my one from senior year to army, I am really worried.
But at least I have my Pochacco wallet from junior high
Those things were horrible, I feel so bad for my dad, I made him pay almost a hundred dollars for a metal box and some stickers.
And from the world of band, a flag they gave us on graduation
And some "dot books," which all apparently went through the washing machine. Dot books are the papers in marching band that say where your spots on the field are, and how many counts to get there.
Not one, but two (and I think even three) bags o' hair.
My planners for (from left to right) sophomore, junior, senior year. My taste got progressively worse.
From the army, the so-called "smart book," which you have to read in basic training because it "makes you smart." Ay, if only that had been the case with some of my platoon-mates.
And here we are, the only thing that means anything, at left a shirt my grandma used to wear, which I saved from donation after her funeral. It used to smell like her, but it doesn't anymore. At right the hankerchief from her funeral, which were given out because she used to stand outside and wave to us with a hankchief everytime we left her house and we all stood outside and waved goodbye to her as her casket was driven away, and good job I am cryng now. Also, a shell casing from her 21-gun salute.
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