While packing for her move my Mom has been attempting to unload all kinds of random family artifacts (i.e., crap) onto my life. My mother can attach an intensity of meaning to material objects that some reserve for religious worship. Yes, I smile when I drink out of the glass that was a jar in 1985, but tell me, what am I supposed to do with the Oscar the Grouch Cookie Jar? Her pant suit from 1992?

My bag of notes from junior high school, however, contains sacred text (as in words on paper). Though, I do agree they should be burned on the grounds of violating laws against Lethal Boringness. (And, yet, I can't throw them out). Albums, college papers, photographs...fine. But a part of me would be happy to wave a magic wand and disappear the hope chest complete with my high school journals (whose key I have conveniently lost).

Just for today, I don't know what to do with this stuff.