Pivot

I don't know how to change your mind.
If only I could.
I would.

We're not going back to the way we were
Even if we could, we wouldn't
We shouldn't
The past is just a place in your unreliable memory
There is no route back to it

We can't know what the future will hold
Hard to embrace the unknown
And the unknowable
Especially when it means a redistribution of power
When it means your way of life is over

But it's time
It's past time

Time to pivot

mementos

The box is labelled "Nicola's High School Treasures". It has been in my garage for the last 14 years and before that, in one basement after another. For the last 40 years it's been dutifully moved from apartment to basement suite to house.

Yesterday I tossed it in the recycle bin.

Old school assignments. Figure skating programmes. Old Christmas cards and Valentines and letters from friends and family. Locks of my own hair. Wedding invitations and party favours. Three scrapbooks full of memories. Pictures I drew. A handmade campaign badge for a students' council election. Placemats from restaurants. Tickets from now defunct airlines. As I looked through the box, I smiled at the many memories. A lot of events I had forgotten.  Embarrassing creations of my adolescent self. 

The box tells the story of my idyllic childhood. The story that made me who I am.

What was I saving it for? What possible use do these items have to anyone? I am pretty sure my kids won't want them.  These are my memories. They aren't theirs. Maybe they would look through the scrapbooks once, ponder on what the items represented, give a little smile and then consign them to the dumpster. Why would I torture my kids into trying to decide what to do with these things, as I now struggle to deal with my grandmother's letters, the box of old family photos and slides, my dad's little scraps of paper. Trying to make sense of the whole meaning of their lives through what they left behind. I will save them that.

Readers of my blog know that I'm fascinated with personal histories and the artefacts we save.  i come from a long line of people who have saved so many little things that tell their story. That is probably why I have been designed family archivist. I wonder why we save the things we do and throw others away. How our history shapes us and what it means when memories go. I wonder about those who save nothing and what that says about them.

Will I miss these mementos? These little parts of me that only I know. These little pieces of my past that will now only live inside my head until they disappear. 

I am pretty sure I will.