Bittersweet, Memories

Bittersweet, Memories

I have been hard at work on my archiving project: 35 years of Steve Dahl and Company, personal edition.  I have unearthed boxes of pictures, baby books, tubs of prints, report cards, diplomas, baby wristbands and hats- everything imaginable….except for Matt’s high school graduation picture for his School Years folder.  I know I bought them, since I framed one- but I need the other prints to complete his baby book and to put a photo in the Grade 12 slot.

The absence of this picture is an aberration, since I save everything.  That is why I am doomed to drive myself nuts doing this.  I have trotted down memory lanes that I did not remember.  I now have all the photographs arranged chronologically in shoe boxes.  I also have one shoe box for each boy.  I curse double prints, but I really curse the lack of embedded dating on the backs.  I a using forensic science like baby teeth vs. oversized teeth, neon vs. prep, permed Mom vs. flat hair.  In other words, the order is a little hap hazard.

I bought two rolling shelving units that will be repurposed in the garage, and I have all my boxes installed upon them.  I need to work in the kitchen, for the light and counter space to spread things out.  Every day, I roll in the boxes and work.  I have gone through twenty thousand pictures, and to tell you the truth, I am almost getting sick of my family.  Just kidding.  But I have thrown out thousands of pictures.  It kills me.  But I over-captured.  Memories will just have to hold the boys over.

Album making will start this weekend.  Each boy has a Senior Year box I am editing, and an assortment of salvaged treasures.  Today I came across and X-ray of a hand. I had to call Mike to remind me when he was injured (16 inch softball).  The devil is in the details.

At any rate, I will not bore you with this tedious affair.   My butt is 2 inches wider than when I started, and my eyes are .5 diopters worse off.


I did find this adorable note from Mike, circa 2nd-3rd grade.  I like to think he was starting his persuasive writing unit.  It made my day.  It also reminded me why I love being a mother.

Mike did not get the knife.  He never learned to widdle.  But he was always persuasive, polite and loving.  Still is.

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