the ol' memory lane ramble

I recently acquired a load of boxes from my parents' attic. Upon opening them, I discovered that they date from when we moved into that house my junior year of high school, almost 15 years ago now. They haven't been opened since, and sorting through them was painful and hilarious. A brief catalogue of their contents as follows:

Of this dress, I have absolutely no  memory. I certainly  never wore it.

so hot, 20 years ago

 It looks like something straight from gofugyourself.

These beauties. Anyone else remember these? They could be found under the description of "Fashion Star Fillies." As you can see by the shorn one in front (haircut courtesy of my younger sister), they sport a star on their cheekbones. They cost the mighty sum of $10, each. I loved them.

front to back: Dara, Nikki, Calli

The very bedraggled basket of silk flowers I carried at my aunt's wedding when I was eight (seven?).

so proud of these, for so long

My fairy-tale princess dress that my aunt made for me, also around the age of eight. It came complete with hat and flowing veil. I suppose, in the event I don't have any daughters, it shall pass to my niece, if she wants it, although right now she's only three months old.

this once clothed Snow White in an elementary school play.

Who isn't jealous of these, though? Here is a total of three, maybe even four, Sylvanian Families. I was pretty stoked to unearth these:

Wee woodland creatures! With clothes!

 especially this guy!

because all bear cubs sleep in cradles

Other items included my research paper from 10th grade (on suicide), myriad cards from all ages and occasions, dried up yet still sticky paint-by-number paints, half finished paint-by-number pictures, a couple of random Christmas ornaments, and God knows what else. Some of it was fun to discover: the score sheets from my piano guild competitions (I could have been decent if I'd stuck with it), my art folders from high school (not too bad!), a birthday card from my cousin Carl, who passed away last August. I try to draw the line between pack-rat and worthy keepsakes, and hope I haven't gotten rid of anything I will regret. I'm pretty sure not, but who knows? More time will tell . . .