Boxed memories…

Another new year and out with the old, in with the new, as is often said. Yes, it’s been one of those weeks in my life. Unfortunately, this phrase doesn’t apply to our attic where a stockpile of all things that once were has taken on a life of its own. I’ve written about this before, citing boxes of photographs, baby clothes, household items and more, each item a reminder of yesterdays and loved ones. Someone reminded me that the contents of these boxes really don’t hold memories and I was advised that all such thoughts are tucked away safely in our minds.

I disagree. Think about it.

In fact, after again watching a movie called “November Christmas”, one particular scene made my heart smile when a still grieving mother opened a box with toys, once belonging to her son who tragically passed away years earlier. She reached into each box and shared them with a visiting little boy who smiled with delight as he played with each item. That once sad collection of memories sprang back to life with a chance to bring another child joy.


Sorting through years of papers from my children, and grandchildren, I’m quickly greeted with sparks of precious memories inside each box. Bittersweet reminders of how quickly time has flown by and, for a brief moment or two, I’m taken back to places and times I’d almost forgotten. Photographs of tiny faces peering out from baby blankets that I once held in my arms; now they’ve all grown and insist that they drive when we go somewhere. Collections of retro music or scents from boxes of Christmas decorations, each twinkle of nostalgia tucked inside lures us back to cherished and much simpler times.

At times, when rummaging through boxes, a toy will be stuffed rather uncomfortably inside and I recall how my children campaigned for that item, only to play with it for a week, Still, the thoughts that flow back are happy, even if life was difficult at that time, for whatever reasons, but the easier times helped to bring a balance overall.

We continue to grow older, time continues to move even faster. The best part about this attic conglomeration of “stuff” is the ability to pass it on and share, so that others can look back and enjoy a trip back in time, reflecting on the beautiful pieces of life as we once knew it. At least I hope that’s the case, where I’m concerned. Forget any monetary valuation on things deemed collectible, it’s impossible to put a price tag on most, especially all of those boxed memories.

From the Writer’s Workshop: Share something that you worked on this week.

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You’re gonna miss this…

Just two words: Graduation Day. Well, add two more for exact definition: high school. A turning point in most lives when, with the tossing of mortarboards into the air, adulthood came barreling back down with a vengeance. The times we yearned, even agonized, over wanting to grow up and shirk the restraints of being kids, yet here we all were, standing on the doorstep of that dream, and some of us were scared.


Suddenly, all the carefree moments of growing up and coasting through teen-age years took on a serious stance as we reluctantly began to leave it all behind. The expectations were for us to plan out our lives and focus on what our future passion would be. Harsh reality set in, accompanied with fear of the unknown We experienced issues of what lies ahead and likely felt forced at times with trying to figure out the right path to take. There was no longer a chance of running for the protective cover of childhood. This…was it, sink or swim. With much trepidation, the steps across the bridge to so-called maturity became overwhelming, to say the very least. It was the turning point into becoming responsible adults. The struggle was real.


Last goodbyes to high school friends was a difficult part which most didn’t see coming. So many were lost during the Vietnam War along with faces who drifted away to whatever and wherever life took them. We took our idealism along to college, employment or on a quest to start a new life elsewhere. In a blink, the familiarities started to disappear and resided between pages in a yearbook, most noted with “Good Luck” scribbled across photographs of faces we would never see again.


It’s difficult to categorically state what the real end of childhood is, let’s face it, it’s subjective. The legal definition stating “a person under eighteen years of age” certainly does not apply to everyone. There are those who, due to circumstances, are mature beyond their years at 13 or 14 as well as those who refuse to grow up, well into their middle years. As such, the duration of childhood varies.


Overall, the sad ending to childhood takes place when there’s no longer the ability to enjoy life’s little things. A concept that will last as long as the desire to have fun remains and there’s a pause to treasure these fleeting moments.

Writing Prompt for December 28, 2023…Write about the event that was the end of your childhood.
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Snowman…


Don’t cry, snowman, not in front of me”

A snowy, solitary, figure with a soul that comes from the hearts of children who make him, a mixture of laughter and love. Not just a fun, icy, form, but a quiet companion; a snowman, of course.


“In every snowflake, there is a story waiting to be told,” a favorite quote of mine which tells of the magical essence of winter. Each snowflake falling from the sky is unique, just like every individual who has their own story waiting to be told. Moments of love, of sorrow and strength, each human life is a collection of stories waiting to be shared.

Though a snowman consists of nothing but ice and snow, it has such a wonderful ability to touch and warm each of us.. Simple and innocent, the cold sculpture brings joy to all. A snowman is winter’s magic, inviting our inner child to embrace the beauty of the season and grasp fleeting moments of happiness. Hands that create each snowman are magical with their creativity. Although somewhat imperfect, each snowman is a demonstration to find something special within the given imperfection.

A snowman’s true power doesn’t exist under its physical form but in its ability to warm ours and thaw the coldest of other hearts during his brief visit. Once the snow melts and the snowman disappears, the memories left behind are tucked away in a special place in our lives.

From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop:
Take a line from a song you love and turn it into the title of your next blog post. Let the content follow.




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