One Man’s Treasure . . .

I think I might have mentioned in some other posts that I like . . . er, love garage sales.  Yes, I admit it, I do.  Part of it really is a way to satisfy my nosiness.  So when Jonah goes nosing through my things for no apparent reason or he gets the “Curious George” award at school, I don’t have to ask – I know good and well that he inherited this from his mother.  Sorry, buddy.

So we’re having our own sale this Saturday. As usual, it’s a lot more work than I bargained for.  It has meant many nights of dragging heavy boxes from the stifling heat of the garage (Hello 106!) to the living room, going through impossibly large bags of clothing and basically ransacking my home for anything we no longer need. In the midst of all this, Jason and I have had some fun.  In our almost 8 years of married life we’ve had a few garage sales, and we inevitably always come across some funny/neat things as we sift through the junk.

For example, I found a stack of the cards we got at our wedding (yes, I keep greeting cards!).  I sat there on the dining room floor and smiled as I read our friends’ and family’s well-wishes.  I also found a Manila folder full of letters I received while on a 10 week missions trip to New England in 1999.  I found the first anniversary card I gave to Jason, notes from one of my composition theory classes at USAO and my journal from Educational Psychology. 

While I am happy to be rid of the cruddy old fry-daddy my mom made us take home on our last visit, I cannot part with these written portions of our history.  I am excited that someday Lyla and Jonah can look through our old notes and journals to get a glimpse of us in our younger years, to see our hopes and ideals jotted down in composition notebooks and our love expressed in witty Hallmark cards.

To write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written. Jean-Jacques Rousseau

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