Thank goodness I have my Sweet Pickles books back

About 10 years ago, I attempted to clean out my bedroom at my parents' house. They were getting the house ready to sell so that they could move to California after living most of their lives in Mississippi. That is another story all together though.

I don't keep things. Not like my momma does. In fact, she has threatened not to pass down certain items to me because I might get tired of them and throw them away. She isn't wrong.

A box came yesterday. One of the mystery boxes from my former mother-in-law. It was huge and heavy, and probably cost her a small fortune to send it.

Guy and I opened it last night in the foyer, because it was too heavy to move into the living room.

There were two things that I'm really glad were sent. A satin bag full of my grandmother's handkerchiefs, and a necklace that belonged to my great great grandmother DeLoach.

I almost feel a little guilty because the rest of the stuff could have just stayed there. When she said she was sending a "small" box, I stupidly believed her.

I wonder though, if it was just a box that she chose, or if she went through the boxes and chose things to send.

There were my school annuals from 1980-1983. The fun there was reading the signatures and having Guy almost pass out when he was reminded that his first year of college was when I was in the fourth grade. That's always good for a laugh. Never gets old. Unlike Guy. Who is old now.

A small box within the enormous box contained my band awards. Yes, my high school band awards. I was that person who won the band awards. The John Philip Sousa band award, and two jazz band awards. I tried to throw these plaques away 10 years ago, but my momma wouldn't hear of it. She said I would want them one day. I'm still waiting on that day, and now find myself unable to toss them since they were just shipped across the country at someone else's expense.

Also back in my possession are dozens of pairs of gloves. Because every Southern woman needs gloves. They were also my grandmother's. Now I really hope Bird is a girl because the dress up possibilities have gotten quite good around here.

There were folders and folders of music that I've written. I suppose I should want to keep it, but since no one will be performing it, I don't really see the point. But again, it will probably just move to the attic and take up space with my band plaques.

My mother's violin was in the box. It was the violin she had when she was four. Somewhere I have an audio tape of her playing that violin, and it is far more entertaining and useful than the actual violin. Perhaps I can find a nice shelf to display it upon, and then curse when I have to dust it weekly.

I also got back a giant framed collage of pictures from high school. They were of me and Hope, me and Shelster, Shelster and random person, Shelster by herself, and then a bunch of people whose names I can't remember. There were none of Matthew, who is by all accounts the only person from high school who I wish that I hadn't lost touch with. Scattered amongst the pictures? More band memorabilia. Oh yeah.

There were children's books, more costume jewelry that belonged to my grandmothers, and the Jefferson cup that Salem College gave me when I went to interview for scholarships.

They are all things that marked milestones in my life, or that I once held dear. It was fun to look through the box and have the memories come flooding back. I don't even want to know what it cost her to ship it though, because most of it will be going in the trash or to Goodwill.

Most of it except my Olivia Newton John album. Get down with my bad self.