Yesterday I went through two of the boxes of papers that I brought home from Mom's house last Saturday.
You heft pounds of exercises from your Statistics Class and you think, "Could I relearn this subject from these notes?" What an investment. All those hours crunching numbers and writing everything out. Looks like each assignment was worth 10 points. I'm flipping through the stack and seeing 10s with "very good" in red teacher writing. Then I come to one that, beside the 10, says, "Heh heh." Curious, I looked through the assignment. The final page has me saying, "I can't finish. I'm too tired. I'm going to bed." To which teacher has written, "Don't tempt me! This is not worthy of you who has displayed such mathematical ..." what was the word he used? Meticulousness? No, but something like that.
Out went notes for my Native American Art Class. I saved my term paper. Brother David made off with the carving that I wrote the paper about. It's a fox (or wolf?) head with a flounder lid. I remember trying to jam Matchbox cars in the hollow when I was young and stupid. Mom said my sister Bernice had given it to her. It's a Yupiq carving, I understand. From Nunivaq Island. Mom said, "Bernice has good taste."
Out went the box of 1978 brochures from amusement parks around the country. I loved those things. I remember Mom encouraged me to write to all the amusement parks I had addresses for. And they all sent back their latest brochures. What treasure coming in the mail! I pored over those, imagined myself traveling the nation riding roller coasters. I'm sure all the parks have websites now. But last night I looked through every brochure before dropping it in the recycle bag. Truth? The photos were rarely anything special -- but I do remember some of them.
Last night I felt torn, like I'd betrayed a promise. But now I feel ... lighter.