Memories of a Time Long Gone

My parents are moving in less than two months.

You may not care about that, but since I will not be heading home until after they move, it meant a Skype date with my sister as she held up every single possession of mine that is in my parents' home to ask whether I would like to keep it, trash it, or sell it at a garage sale.

Some items were no-brainers - books that had no sentimental value, a bottomless pit of office supplies, and a couple of laundry baskets that wouldn't be worth shipping down to Boston.

What was hard to throw away were all the little knick knacks I'd collected over the years. I mean, who really needs a Veggie Tales eraser? (Bob the Cucumber and Larry the Tomato, anyone?) What about the pack of mints I bought at Hoover Dam? (Best Dam Mints) Or the San Francisco key chain with my name on it?

As I went through all of these items, it struck me how much my identity used to be tied up in the things I chose to like. There was a lot of penguin, Veggie Tales, and travel paraphernalia. I had huge posters of my favourite band (Switchfoot ;-) ) and collages of special seasons of my life.

Though I didn't have to do the physical throwing away (thank you Becky!), it was still hard to let these things go. In fact, I took screen shots so I could remember. But the reality is that I no longer have any use for my "I Hate Cuddling" button or my "Boys Are Smelly" grape-flavoured candies. Not only do they not represent who I am any longer (though don't get any ideas about invading my personal space), I have also moved on to someone who keeps the mementos to a minimum. Perhaps that is the function of being about to head to live in my third city in as many years.

I'd also like to think that as I mature, that my identity is found less in my "Chicks Rule" key chain and more in the way that I carry myself and interact with others. Of course, despite all these thoughts, the truth is that I'm glad is was my sister and my I who had to throw away all of that stuff!

Scent-Induced Memories

This morning, before going for a run, I put on sunscreen for the first time this season. (Despite being blonde and fair-skinned, I don't wear sunscreen anywhere near the frequency that I should.) As I squeezed the sunscreen into my hand, the smell aroused some powerful memories. Immediately I was transported to my suite in Cuba, a fun day at Sylvan Lake, my summer camp counselling days and sitting by the pool in Phoenix working on my leadership presentation over Reading Week.

It's amazing how our memory filter works. I love that when looking back on life, it's the good memories that stick. Every adventure has its ups and downs. But looking back in time, it's only the ups that we really remember. We might, if prompted, remember the challenges, but the weight of those challenges, however insurmountable they have have seemed at the time, is diminished by the fun memories and victories we achieved. I suppose the lesson in that is to endure the challenges and the hard times if they lead to good things. It's so cliche to say that "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger," but I think it's even more important to realize that anything good is going to come with challenges, and if the "good thing" is worthwhile, putting up with the challenges is, too.

This was crossing my mind as I thought about my upcoming road trip with my sisters. We've been on a few road trips together. Since our family drove for almost all our family vacations, the three of us are well-conditioned to travelling together. I know that in our travels, we have absolutely fought and argued and gotten mad at each other. But I don't remember any of those specific incidents. What sticks in my mind is the fun adventures that we've had, being silly together ("I noticed you're not wearing any galoshes"), talking about whatever meaningful conversation comes up, playing stupid car games, pulling over to the side of the road to take completely random pictures and doing "chinese fire drills"* to switch drivers when one of us would get tired.

Well, this post has really migrated away from what I originally intended it to be. All this to say I'm so excited about driving down to C'ville with my sisters in August!

*Chinese Fire Drills: When the light turns red, everyone gets out of the car, runs around it, and hops back in. In this case, we changed seats when hopping back in.
As a further note, the irony of the term struck me as I wrote it. I recently came across the term "Canadian Tuxedo" and had the most perplexing time trying to figure out why a wardrobe combination of all denim would be somehow associated with Canadians. While I still don't have an answer, I wonder if any Chinese people will read my blog and wonder why running around the car and calling it a "fire drill" is associated with the Chinese. Sorry... I don't know!