Wow, I just realized it’s ten minutes to five in the morning and here I sit, less sleepy than I was hours ago. I tried falling asleep but my mind wouldn’t shut down. That to do list of mine just didn’t want to lay to rest. So I decided to get up and keep cleaning and organizing. After a few minutes I reach for a largish shoebox that is taped up, no markings to be seen. I thought it was full of old cassette tapes, but realize it’s too light for that. So I open it up…….
and take one giant leap into the past. This box is filled with letters. Most of them from 1998-1999, the year I graduated from High School, and my first year of college/the year I got married. Right away I see letters from old beaus, and determine right then that I will throw those away without reading them. Seriously, I should not have these after 12 years of marriage.
That part was pretty easy to do, although one hilarious letter jumps out at me. One of the missionaries I was “writing” gives me some pointers on marriage. I love it. My favorite is “Don’t put your bed in the front room of your house just to watch TV laying down.” So funny. I guess he got lots of pointers in Mexico about what married people should NOT do.
As I’ve sat here for obviously the last two hours I am transported back to those years. I can see myself at the crossroads. I read letters from my sister and Mom to me at college; I read letters from my brother on his mission, before life seemed to come between us. I read letters from wonderful friends. I find a letter to myself to open when I turned 18. I remember that I did read it, although a few weeks late. I find an old Stake Dance Card, my driver’s permit, old school awards.
But what I rediscover is myself. I can remember that youthful joy and excitement that I felt at that time. Looking forward to a future where I am married in the temple to the man I love with a family of my own. I knew that once I was there it was all smooth sailing.
And I realize, this silly little box that has followed us around for 13 moves will be taped back up, and will follow us for as many more moves as we may yet have.
And maybe in 12 more years I’ll discover it again.
And realize once again that the young girl I once was really did get everything she ever dreamed of.
And for the record, I’m totally going to cash in on the “coupon” from my sister saying that she’ll make my bed for me anytime.
Who says a trip down memory lane can’t be useful?
The Flying Circus -- Book Review
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