Cleaning (inbetween)

I've decided to reclaim my closet.

A few years ago it gained independence from the rest of the house. I was fine with that. Happy, even, as that meant that I didn't need to deal with it. Just slide the door closed and ignore the entire contents. Now it scares me, mostly because when I say a few years, I mean seven. Seven years ago.

So far, I've found stuffed animals, a singing fish given to me as a serious Christmas present from some family I haven't seen in twenty years, a first-generation Atari game console, a dozen board games, and so much more. And then there are the memories that go along with everything, most of which predate my friendships. Some of them go back to high school, or further.

There's the sea-shell turtle I bought in Hawaii when I was in the eight grade. It was my first trip away from my parents. All through high school, I was in a ukulele band. One of the best in BC, actually. We fund-raised and earned enough money for a band trip (ukulele band, don't forget) to go to Hawaii. I really enjoyed myself. I'll never forget that first taste of freedom, being away from my father. Back then, my mother was still relatively healthy.

I first realized I was different on that trip, when I noticed that I was drinking a glass of water with my pinky finger up in the air, just like the crazy old lady/chaperon was doing. If I had only known then...

Two years later, the high school band went on tour, to Hawaii. That was a fun trip too. The memories are a little clearer, thankfully. It was the first time I'd seen a whole pig, cooked in a pit. It was the first time I had a group of friends to do things with. There were people I wanted to spend time with. I felt like part of a group, and then I came home. On that trip, I got a pair of ben-wa balls. They are sitting in a beautifully hand-crafted case, and still jingle.

A year later, the band went to Disneyland. Another great taste of freedom, and a zippo from the Hard Rock cafe in Los Angeles later, and I have some more beautiful memories. When I graduated from high school, my aunt Helen gave me an engraved, silver cup. And there's the bingo-booty, a lovely collection of random crap given out by drag queens back when I had Thursday mornings off.

I miss bingo so much. Not so much the actual bingo, but the drag queens, and the friends, and just knowing that it would always be fun.

And there's Bob the dinosaur, but he gets his own writeup. And the light-o-meter, from Science World and my first unsupervised trip out of the city. A fishbowl with no fish, a dinosaur puppet painted gold, an empty port bottle, a Klein Bottle, a humidor, a bottle of black sand, and a purple hippopotamus key chain.

Which memories are going to fall victim to cleaning? What's more important, the oil lamp from a trip with John six years ago, or a Mickey Mouse Key chain? I'm only 27, but if I keep up collecting stuff, I'll never have room for it by the time I'm 50. And what happens when I move?