Happy Little Trees

I had a dream the other night that my family and I snuck into our old house, because we were hanging out in the little town, and needed a place to eat some sandwiches. So, we went into the house, found where the plates were now kept, and sat down to eat. I remember feeling nervous that the new family would walk in and see us still there. I really didn't want to go up the stairs because it would instantly rewrite all my memories with the new scenery. I wanted to keep my old memories.
 
In real life, I think maybe I have a small bit of separation anxiety from my old house. I'm a pretty sentimental person which my mother interprets as being a pack rat. While mom was moving last summer from our home of 31 years, she had me go through about seven or so Rubbermaid containers filled with my memories. Some things I easily threw away, and Judy-the-Bulldozer (as I thought of her as a child when cleaning out my closet), became a little nostalgic with some of my belongings. It was kind of odd that the things that meant the most to my mom didn't necessarily mean the most to me. Somehow, she finally got me to finish sorting (and stop remembering) and I made it through. It was like living my life again through an exhibit sponsored by Rubbermaid.
 
I kept thinking that maybe I shouldn't have gotten rid of everything, because if I became really famous, those items could be used in the museum about me. But I had to take that chance. Now I live in Texas with whole heaps of treasures I've collected here, but there are still many pieces of me (and a few Rubbermaids containers) left in Kentucky.
 
I brought back my Fisher Price circus train, and my cheerleading uniforms, but my grandmother's china was a bit harder to transport, so my mom still has it. Maybe one day, I'll drive the horrendous drive instead of flying the friendly skies, and get the rest of it.
 
I really miss our house. But I suppose it's just the old memories that I actually miss.  I miss the sounds of my family yelling up and down the stairs messages to one another. I miss searching for mittens in the top of the hall closet when the first snow sprinkled the ground. I miss playing the hymns on the piano and singing falseto. I miss sneaking my cat and/or dog into the house when my parents weren't home.
 
ohhhhh...life changes. We grow. Old and up. God bless us all, every one.

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