Living in Oklahoma you come to expect a few things: lots of wind, really good football, and an intimate relationship with your local weatherman.
Tornados are a part of life here. But when the F-5 tornado ripped
through our state on May 20th I didn’t expect to feel so impacted by it. In our small office of 4, we have one person’s whose house was destroyed on May 3rd, 1999 and one person whose children attend Moore schools and a Moore daycare. Watching the tornado on television was really traumatic. It wasn’t going towards a nameless, faceless town. It was headed straight towards Paula’s kids. It was headed towards people we know, care about, and love. Thankfully Paula and her family are fine. But there were hours when we were in the dark about their safety.
The day before the tornados hit, I wrote a blog about my experience helping my parents move out of my childhood home. It seemed so frivolous after what everyone in the state went through that Monday afternoon that I didn’t post it. Now that I’ve had some distance between the events, I believe the story has some relevance. Of course, the things we own are not as important as the people in our lives. But, the things we own do hold a lot of the memories about
those people in our lives. I can’t imagine having all my things being destroyed. Our thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the storms. Oklahomans are tough cookies. I know we'll bounce back stronger than ever.
BREADCRUMBS OF THE PAST; Written on MAY 19th, 2013
The summer before my 6th grade year, my family bought a house. This house had two stories, a pool, a hot tub, and it was right down the street from the junior
high I would be attending the following year. I was totally, like, this is
going to be awesome! (this is how we spoke back then.)
When my parents told me recently the house had sold, nostalgia set in.
Looking back it was more than just a residential structure; it was a vault of memories. It was the place where the words “Hello, I’m home!” echoed through the air, time and time again. The place where I jabbered on the phone for hours with my friends, and where Rick Springfield’s image was taped to every square inch of wall space in my bedroom. The place where meals were prepared,
storms were ridden out, and where a few dates arrived at our doorstep
with Drakkar Noir cologne emitting from their person and a corsage
displayed proudly in their hand.
For weeks, my spouse, brother and other family members
helped prepare for big move. Donating, cleaning, and organizing. Renting a
moving van, packing away the precious items, and trying to make sense of the
mound of stuff left at the end.
I hadn’t lived there since my senior year in college, but for some reason, (thanks to my parents’ good will) a lot of my things lived there indefinitely.
The sheer amount of pictures, memorabilia and stuff a family collects can be completely overwhelming. For some strange reason, as a child I thought I needed to keep things like school papers, an old lunch ticket, earrings without mates, and notebooks filled with information I’ll never need. Also curious was why I thought covering everything with paint pen marker was the thing to
do?!?
One of the days while riffling through all these items, my dad sent
a profound text message: A man from the Smithsonian said without a
nation of “savers” we would not have museums. So, you are
a saver and museum creator, not some less complimentary type!
What a relief! I am not a hoarder, a junk collector, or a person who can’t throw anything away. I am a saver. Saving documents, memorabilia, pictures, Cabbage Patch Dolls, and notebooks are the bread crumbs
of my past. I forgot how my hands used to hurt from taking notes in biology, and
what Babe cologne smelled like. I forgot that in 1989 we went up the
escalators in the World Trade Center during my school trip to NYC. I forgot
how busy my schedule was in college and how much dues were in my
sorority. All these items are like mini time machines, taking me back and
reminding me of the interesting, mundane, and kooky memories that make me who I am now.
So if you’ve been doing some spring cleaning of your own and
just haven’t been able to throw away that lettermen jacket, or that book from
8th grade, remember: you are not a weak, indecisive individual! You are a
purveyor of the past! Like a collector of fine wines, you are a collector of
memories.Be proud. Stand up for yourself. Some stuff is worth keeping. Once
you throw something away—it’s pretty hard to get it back.
Tornados are a part of life here. But when the F-5 tornado ripped
through our state on May 20th I didn’t expect to feel so impacted by it. In our small office of 4, we have one person’s whose house was destroyed on May 3rd, 1999 and one person whose children attend Moore schools and a Moore daycare. Watching the tornado on television was really traumatic. It wasn’t going towards a nameless, faceless town. It was headed straight towards Paula’s kids. It was headed towards people we know, care about, and love. Thankfully Paula and her family are fine. But there were hours when we were in the dark about their safety.
The day before the tornados hit, I wrote a blog about my experience helping my parents move out of my childhood home. It seemed so frivolous after what everyone in the state went through that Monday afternoon that I didn’t post it. Now that I’ve had some distance between the events, I believe the story has some relevance. Of course, the things we own are not as important as the people in our lives. But, the things we own do hold a lot of the memories about
those people in our lives. I can’t imagine having all my things being destroyed. Our thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the storms. Oklahomans are tough cookies. I know we'll bounce back stronger than ever.
BREADCRUMBS OF THE PAST; Written on MAY 19th, 2013
The summer before my 6th grade year, my family bought a house. This house had two stories, a pool, a hot tub, and it was right down the street from the junior
high I would be attending the following year. I was totally, like, this is
going to be awesome! (this is how we spoke back then.)
When my parents told me recently the house had sold, nostalgia set in.
Looking back it was more than just a residential structure; it was a vault of memories. It was the place where the words “Hello, I’m home!” echoed through the air, time and time again. The place where I jabbered on the phone for hours with my friends, and where Rick Springfield’s image was taped to every square inch of wall space in my bedroom. The place where meals were prepared,
storms were ridden out, and where a few dates arrived at our doorstep
with Drakkar Noir cologne emitting from their person and a corsage
displayed proudly in their hand.
For weeks, my spouse, brother and other family members
helped prepare for big move. Donating, cleaning, and organizing. Renting a
moving van, packing away the precious items, and trying to make sense of the
mound of stuff left at the end.
I hadn’t lived there since my senior year in college, but for some reason, (thanks to my parents’ good will) a lot of my things lived there indefinitely.
The sheer amount of pictures, memorabilia and stuff a family collects can be completely overwhelming. For some strange reason, as a child I thought I needed to keep things like school papers, an old lunch ticket, earrings without mates, and notebooks filled with information I’ll never need. Also curious was why I thought covering everything with paint pen marker was the thing to
do?!?
One of the days while riffling through all these items, my dad sent
a profound text message: A man from the Smithsonian said without a
nation of “savers” we would not have museums. So, you are
a saver and museum creator, not some less complimentary type!
What a relief! I am not a hoarder, a junk collector, or a person who can’t throw anything away. I am a saver. Saving documents, memorabilia, pictures, Cabbage Patch Dolls, and notebooks are the bread crumbs
of my past. I forgot how my hands used to hurt from taking notes in biology, and
what Babe cologne smelled like. I forgot that in 1989 we went up the
escalators in the World Trade Center during my school trip to NYC. I forgot
how busy my schedule was in college and how much dues were in my
sorority. All these items are like mini time machines, taking me back and
reminding me of the interesting, mundane, and kooky memories that make me who I am now.
So if you’ve been doing some spring cleaning of your own and
just haven’t been able to throw away that lettermen jacket, or that book from
8th grade, remember: you are not a weak, indecisive individual! You are a
purveyor of the past! Like a collector of fine wines, you are a collector of
memories.Be proud. Stand up for yourself. Some stuff is worth keeping. Once
you throw something away—it’s pretty hard to get it back.