weekending

So this weekend Hubster and I are house sitting for my parents, as they are away. The main jobs they've asked us to are empty the overflow from the boiler and collect post. I've taken it upon myself to sort through the 'childhood' things I still have here and decide what to do with them.

Even though I technically moved out quite a while ago (multiple years; quick way to make myself feel old and lost in the world - neither of which is true) I still have a lot of stuff here. A lot of it is tat, left over bits I didnt get round to sorting out and have crammed under the bed and studiously ignored every visit home. There are also some important things and I want to make sure they are properly kept and looked after.

The problem is that my parents have decided to Clear Out. The capitalisation is justified. My parents have a LOT of stuff. They are not quite pathological horders that people write into newspaper columns about, but the house is full and disorganised. They would probably both be really hurt if they ever read that, despite the fact that I'm not saying it as a reflection on them or their lifestyle at all. Simply that there are a lot of objects in this house.

So to ensure that I am able to keep the little momentos I'd like to without worrying that they might get caught up in an overzealous trip to the charity shop I'm collecting them together. My parents would never deliberately get rid of anything important to me, but they may not realise that a scratty notebook, or otherwise nondescript small ornament, coin, ticket stub or trinket was/is incredibly meaningful to me (or my 15 year old self).

What treasured things do any of you have from your childhood? or what do you wish you'd been able to keep?

As a teeneager, far too focused on the idea of being 'grown up' I got rid of nearly all my childhood books. I still regret it, as I'd love to re-read all the Nancy Drew, Linda Craig and other random stories I used to lose myself in. It's hard to get many of them anymore, and some I don't remember the titles of, although I remember loving the stories. It's a bit like remembering a story through fog and knowing you won't be able to make it any clearer.

That feeling of regret, of not being able to get something back, is something I fight against as I don't want to become a horder with a house full of things I don't use or appreciate. The (tricky) thing is to strike a balance, to support and treasure memories of where you've come from and who you've been without hampering the life you're leading now.

My treasured memories box is coming along quite well. Some old photos, postcards and notes, the shirt everyone signed the day I finished high school, a book my grandparents bought me and I always read when I visited them are already in there.

I'm having a cup of tea at the moment, then I'll work up the courage to go under the bed and start pulling out boxes to see what else I'll find.