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8 Minute Memoir - Day Eleven

Day Eleven: "Losing Things"


I've lost stuff before.  Once I lost the most beautiful emo, wide leather band watch.  I still cry about it.  I've lost keys, remotes, books, phones, and I'm sure a bunch of other things less painful to lose as well.  I always found those ones.  Maybe because I said a prayer?  That's something I was taught growing up: when you lose something, pray for help to find it.  Jon dang near lost his wedding ring TWICE on our honeymoon.  Once was on the beach near Tortuga Bay where we could swim.  We were wrestling and my hand slid down his arm and hand, slipping his ring off his finger and into the stirred up silty water.  Amazingly, he found it.  The next time he was playing with his ring at his Aunt and Uncle's house when he dropped it and it nearly rolled down a drain.  My mom did lose her wedding ring.  It was a sad day.  She took it off to go boating and the aunt she asked to hold on to it didn't.  Or didn't recall being asked not to lose it.  sad day.  I've lost other less tangible things too.  My virginity, hahahaha.  I've lost my crazy willpower/determination I used to have too.  I really miss it at the moment.  I used to wake up at 5AM just to go swimming at the pool before anyone got there or bike out to Ridge Park and back.  One night a friend called and invited me to go to street wheelers with him in his truck that had a hot tub in the back.  I had already planned to do a practice triathlon the next morning and sad no, I was climbing into bed right then.  I regret that.  I really do.  But I regret not having that kind of willpower anymore too.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Ten

Day Ten: "Messes"


My mom's loft above the garage is a complete and utter mess.  There is just tons and tons of crap up there sitting in this state of limbo called "storage."  It's being utilized for nothing.  Basically the only purpose all the stuff up there has is to collect dust and take up space.  And you want to know what?  It's my mess.  Pretty much all of it.  I'm so grateful my mom lets me keep all my junk up there, but honestly, in my eyes non of it is junk.  It's all the treasure I'm holding onto for the glorious day when I will have a place of my own to call home.  A place where all of that stuff can finally belong and do much more than just collect dust.  There are my old wedding decorations, some of which I fully intend to utilize as decor in my home.  There are some toys I'm holding onto to gift to my children when they're finally old enough to really appreciate them.  There's furniture: dressers, shelves, tables, a bed, a crib, etc.  All stuff that will finally be filled and sat at and laid in once I have a home.  Oh, and the boxes.  Boxes of books.  I'm confident there's at least 100 lbs of books up there.  Maybe even 200 lbs.  Some are so old and dusty the covers are falling off and you can almost smell the hands that held them to read all those many decades ago.  There are cookbooks.  Textbooks.  Children's books.  Novels.  Hundreds of thousands of hours worth of content to be read and digested.  There are clothes.  so many boxes of clothes.  And they're clothes that only fit for a very short window in the life of an infant.  There are also memories.  Memories of games played up there with great big groups of people, such as kissing rugby.  That loft is very, very full and it's a mess.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Nine

Day Nine: "8"


What I remember most vividly about turning 8 was the donut my mom accidentally did in the church parking lot on the way to my baptism.  Then I also remember the two presents I got: a set of scriptures (bible + book of mormon) and a binder.  I was absolutely ecstatic for my very own binder.  It even had dividers!!  Obviously I used the binder to organize the dealings I had with my secret club which was composed of my cousins and sister.  I was a taskmaster.  We had song practices, exercise to do, thank goodness I had those dividers to keep everything organized.  Our meeting place was the trees by Saralynn's Grandma's house.  We spent hours over there building and running and playing.  Of course we'd take snacks out there too.  A couple sleeves of soda crackers was all we needed for a great time.  Being 8 also meant school.  It meant riding the bus.  8 was probably how old I was when I discovered my kitten's little lifeless body on the side of the road at the end of the driveway when I had gone out to catch the bus.  Kassidy and I ran home sobbing.  My mom quickly calmed us from weeping and wailing to sniffles and tears just in time to shoo us out the door and catch the bus.  Of course, all the kids on the bus saw that ragged dead cat and were staring at it as we climbed on board.  "Look!  A dead cat!"  "Ew!"  "It was definitely hit by a car!"  My poor little heart was broken.

8 Minute Memoirs - Day Eight

Day Eight: "Birthdays"


I love the relationship/expectation I have for birthdays.  It is this: "They're just another day."  The last birthday I remember having any strong feelings about was my 12th birthday.  I was TERRIFIED to turn 12 and go into Young Womens.  What made matter monumentally worse was the fact that my parents were leaving on a trip.  It was a work cruise or something.  I was DEVASTATED.  My mom had always told us turning 12 would be the last age we could have a birthday party for, and here she was deserting me on my 12th birthday.  And she was going to be gone on a Sunday when I was supposed to go to Young Womens.  It was a horrible moment in my life.  Fortunately, I survived.  And then I learned the valuable lesson: "Birthdays are just ANOTHER DAY."  I had some very lovely friends who threw me a party.  And I even got to hang back in primary an extra week because I was scared.  All of this turned out to be excellent preparation for my 13th birthday.  I clearly remember waking up to no birthday banner or pancakes.  I made myself a bowl of cereal and proceeded to eat breakfast half asleep like my sisters.  Suddenly, Kassidy turned to me and asked, "Isn't it your birthday today?" - "Yeah."  Silence.  Probably because she was devastated by the lack of fanfare FOR ME.  "Happy birthday."  And then I got dressed and went to school.  Sometime between breakfast and the last class of the day on a Friday, my mom remembered the day.  She made a desperate attempt to win back my affections - just kidding - to redeem herself - haha, kidding again - and bought a few dozen donuts to my class and surprised me.  I think she was genuinely mortified.  Me?  I really wasn't too phased because I had been abandoned the birthday before and learned that birthdays were just another day.  Nowadays, I think my mom sleeping in, forgetting my birthday, and buying apology donuts is the best birthday memory I have!