really?

so, i spent the past two days with my parents in the small town where i grew up, and it's always an experience. i love my parents, don't get me wrong, but there's a reason that children grow up and LEAVE HOME. visiting is great - it's where i grew up, after all, and i love the house and the woods and...but, i digress.

so, we spend the weekend going through old things - quilts, boxes of dishes, pictures...and some of it is wonderful, evokes memories of my childhood or of grandparents and family who have passed. and some of it, well, some of it holds no sentiment except maybe embarassment or confusion (seriously - i wore that? i liked that?) at any rate, it was a good weekend. always a good time to let mom & dad pamper me, eat food that's bad for me, and be in the middle of nostalgia and comfort.

and then, i come home. i'm all fired up about rearranging, purging, organizing...within an hour i have broken one of my favorite flower pots and one of my favorite glasses. is this a reminder that things are just that - Things? i have never been extremely materialistic - i wasn't raised that way, and my parents raised me to value memories, not material things.

But things DO hold memories, and that's what makes them important. Not because of what they are, but because of whose they were.

so, all in all, it was a good weekend. and, i break things a lot - i'm pretty clumsy. it's okay. after all, i keep saying i want to get rid of some of my stuff, right?