After my family Cape Escape, I embarked on a four-day trip down Memory Lane. So, after 37 years my parents had the nerve to sell my childhood home in Massachusetts so they can ‘live free or die’ in New Hampshire. This is mildly traumatic for me, as (despite going wherever I want) I prefer that the people around me stay put. Especially my parents! However, there are grandkids in NH (which makes it totally a losing battle) so I finally had to acknowledge that it actually didn’t make all that much sense for them to stay in MA so I have a place to crash when visiting my high school friends for five days a year. My Dad unsympathetically suggested that in the future I stay at the one motel downtown, The Clipper. Thanks Dad.
This past week my parents (mostly my Mom) guilted me into going “home” to help go through things in prep for their move. It turns out that the “things” they speak of are actually treasures. My treasures!!! I was pleasantly surprised to learn that when I went to college (and it took my parents about 48 hours to transform my bedroom into a den) they had preserved my bedroom!!! Albeit, in boxes. Many boxes. I quickly understood that my parent’s (aka my Mom’s) goal for my visit to my soon-to-be-former home was to get rid of my stuff (that I didn’t even know they still had). So, I embarked on the journey…
It seems that I chronicled my entire childhood, in detail. This was in the form of many diaries/journals (starting at age 8) and scrapbooks to preserve everything. Literally EVERYTHING. I have every award certificate (including one especially embarrassing year when I got the Perfect Attendance Award AND Gym Student of the Year. I would not have wanted to be friends with me), many letters from my many pen-pals (including post cards…so many post cards), and clippings from anytime my name or picture was in the local newspapers (this seemed to have required some scissor-skills to cut out the honor roll listing, cropping to my name only). One would think as I got older and more mature I’d lay off the scrapbooks a bit. NOPE. It got worse. Apparently in about 10th grade I discovered the art of a travel journal, and proceeded to document every trip I went on. In GREAT detail. For example, when I was in my early teens I went to Seattle with my Dad and brother to visit my super-cool-mountaineer-geomorphalogist Uncle Paul and climb Mt. Baker (originally it was supposed to be Mt. Rainier but he smartly assessed that was a lofty goal for his 13 year-old nephew and 14 year-old niece who had zero combined experience with an ice ax. Rainier would come years later). The pictures and accounts of the Baker climb are amazing and definitely work keeping. However, also included in the huge album I compiled is the coaster from the Red Robin restaurant where we got burgers after landing in Seattle (as well as MANY other relics). Let’s just say it was a long four days going through those boxes…
My biggest take-away from the Memory Lane excursion is the transformative change that has taken place in the way we communicate. It’s huuuge! In college I wrote letters. And mailed them. In the mail. I wrote full accounts of my goings-on and received commensurate scrolls from my friends and family. There was no shooting off a quick text about a date (or a class I found interesting? probably more like it).
In that spirit, I came across this relic from my freshman year of college. It was mailed to me, to my college mailbox (I’m pretty sure I had no idea who he was and didn’t seek him out in the food hall that evening to find out):
All in all (minus this date-request) with the old-fashioned communication method it seemed there were real stories conveyed. And, while definitely time-delayed, it somehow seemed to be more a meaningful way to communicate. It took time and thought. We went into details (at least I did..no lack of details on my end). Just so it’s clear I’m not coming from the Dark Ages, I also did chronicle the first time I learned of this new-fangled thing that I later learned was called email. I was 12 and visiting my tech-savvy IBM-engineer-grandfather in New York and journaled that “Tonight Pop-pop showed Seth and I a new disk where you can write to people in other states. It’s so cool!” Clearly I did not inherit the tech gene from Popster (a disk??) and I credit him with making me an early adopter, via a prodigy.net account. He was successful as I emailed him every week for approximately 20 years, and he printed out the emails (with the kind of printer paper where you have to rip off the sides) and saved them in huge binders. Hmmm…I guess I know which gene I did inherit.
Here’s a sampling of my favorite relics from my most recent trip…
My amazing grandmother rocking it in her 70’s. She also has a pink tankini (not pictured, sadly):
My best pic of my beautiful baby sis, Tobi (the product of a high school photography class… I might be part of the last generation to know what a dark room is):
A sampling of my childhood (dance recital, dolled up for a Camp Sloane square-dance, and college…cutting edge with a cordless phone)
Phew…that last trip was a huge emotional toll but was well worth it to recall some of the best times that had somehow slipped out of my memory bank. The last night I was ‘home’ my very best friends from growing up came over- Nichole, Maegan, and Amy. They have collectively spent months in my childhood home and it seemed full circle for them to be there as I said good-bye.
Next stop…headed to the west coast for some volunteering at the Experience Camp in California.