Back, Again

It appears all the pretty things disappear from your blog when you don't post on it for nearly a year. For instance, the background. Oh well, I guess it serves me right.

The last post was written a really long time ago and for some reason didn't obey me when I tried to publish it then. I have many, many (many, many, many, many) videos of those caterpillars on my phone in every stage of their life cycles. Sadly, when they emerged as beautiful butterflies they did not make it very long. Perhaps it was too hot for them, but they never flew after plopping out of their chrysalides (it's A WORD, computer, stop underlining it). They were quite pretty but I feel it would somehow dishonor their short insect lives to post pictures of them after their untimely deaths. 

So far this summer the most interesting thing to happen to me is the unpacking of some boxes full of childhood memories. And by "memories" I mean "twenty or so storage boxes full of things my grandmother kept for me that I neither asked her to keep nor to deposit in my garage." This. woman. kept. EVERYTHING. We're talking receipts to childhood surgeries. We're talking scrunchies from middle school. (FYI, the computer decides "scrunchie" is a real word but not "chrysalides?")

One afternoon in May she calls me on my way home from work. To better understand the following recreated conversation, realize that I sometimes call my grandmother "Grambo."

Grambo: Are you on your way home?
Me: Yeeeees......?
Grambo: We have your boxes. We're waiting at the covered parking at the mall since it's raining so hard.
Me: Boxes?
Grambo: You know, your stuff from when you were little. We're cleaning out the garage and want to get it all over with once and for all. Just call when you're almost home.
Me: Did we...discuss you bringing me theses boxes?
Grambo: No, we just want to get the garage clean.

I swear to you, this is exactly what happened. This is how, fifteen minutes later, I came to be unloading a rainbow of storage boxes into my own garage. Note to self: putting boxes in other people's garages is the easiest way to clean your own. I had no intention of looking through them any time soon. I mean, they've been sitting there for about fifteen years already, so I think it's alright to wait a few more weeks.


I began looking through some of the stuff last week and it is, shall we say, enlightening. Is this who I was as a child? Who could ever own this many dolls? What kind of person kept their Barbies' shoes in tiny hanging shoe organizers? I plan on taking many photographs to document and discuss my past here. I hope you will join me for this self-discovery process.