secret 4 - that stuff in my parents' basement

over the years, every time i've moved, some of my junk stuff beloved belongings has ended up in my parents' basement (they have a very big basement). the last move, which was undertaken as a poor student and involved crossing one of the world's major oceans and only as much overweight luggage as the airline was willing to take without charging extra (turned out to be 7 checked bags between two people), meant that a whole lot of stuff was left behind in my parents' basement.

it includes items as diverse as my archived wedding dress from the marriage to the starter husband to a very smart, very early 90s black & white suit that i would undoubtedly piss myself laughing at if i saw it now to books and CDs and photos and papers from the rhetoric course i took during my first year in college to an ancient mac that can do a cyrillic font. i think there's a box of barbie dolls and some collector's music boxes from the franklin mint (it was a phase). my saddle is there (probably more than one). the silver halter diamond h pansy won for overall grand champion mare in 1982 and which we bought from my horsetrainer so many years ago. knickknacks collected at flea markets. dishes. pots and pans. some of those plastic things you can make your own popsicles in.

from moves before that one, there are odds and ends of very student-y garage sale furniture, boxes of college sweatshirts and shoes and garishly colored bill cosby-inspired sweaters and about 600 pounds of trophies that i won with various horses throughout my childhood.

every time we're there, dad asks when i'm going to take all that stuff. and here's where we come to the secret. i'm not. never. ever. aside from a few of the books (i can't seem to locate my marxist collection) and some pictures i've been looking for that must be there and a certain trophy with a gold horse on top and a blue body that was the very first one i won with my pony merrylegs when i was sent into the show ring wearing little black & red pants and barely old enough to walk on my own, i'm not going to be loading up a container with all that crap stuff.

i suppose someday sabin will happen upon those boxes of clothes and find them to be charmingly vintage and then they will make the trip. but until then, they languish in my parents' basement and i'm sure they feel quite at home.

sharon, i know you're reading, and you're welcome to share this secret with dad. tho' i suspect he already knows it.