It has been more than three years since I moved into my house. Despite exerting relentless daily efforts to keep the accumulation of junk at bay, I couldn't help but notice that certain areas of mi casa were sprouting boxes of stored paraphernalia. In less than six months this will no longer be my space exclusively; with my wedding fast approaching, I decided it was time to do some housecleaning.
As a general rule of thumb, anything that I have accumulated and NOT used within the past year gets returned to its home - Mother Earth. With this credo in mind I began rooting through a series of stored boxes. Folks, it is amazing what memories can be resurrected by simple little objects! Starting from the top, I discovered some Australian newspapers from Sept. 11, 2001 that I brought home with the intent of framing them for display. Maybe I will, someday; until then, the historic papers shall be delegated to another box.
Oh, joy! Further down I came across some old prom pictures. Without so much as a second glance, I can assure you that the "glasses and braces" look is not my style, and never will be. Amazingly, my entire high school career has been reduced to a 24 X 48-inch cardboard box, because the undeniable truth is, that not everything deserves to be thrown away. These memories - pictures from the 2000 Monroe High School Capstone program, various FFA speaking awards, and the miscellaneous newspaper clippings - do not deserve to meet their demise just yet. For example, here was a photo I took of former FFA advisor John Emmons, looking uncharacteristically grouchy. Maybe I'll ask him if he wants it back...
Further down in the box produced progressively older objects, right down to grade school! Why, here was that journal Mrs. Stalder made us keep in fifth grade; sadly, my penmanship has not improved. Here was a paper that I wrote for Mr. Hyland's class, about a trailer park getting demolished by a tornado. It was an 'A' paper - maybe that's why I'll keep it. Another example of early Dan Wegmueller literature includes a thesis entitled "The Adventures of Imafreak," in which the hero inadvertently creates the Great Lakes via a faulty septic tank drainage field. Yes, my friends, creativity and originality has long flowed from these fingertips.
Just at the bottom of the box I uncovered the crème de le crème of my grade school career. The edges of this aged paper have tattered over the years, the hue yellowed slightly. Now, to all you parents out there, consider how you might react if your second-grade child were to proudly bring home something like this:
In my second grade art class, we were supposed to draw a Thanksgiving scene. Before I continue, let me point out that I ALWAYS got an 'A' in art class. Anyway, my second-grade Thanksgiving scene included a turkey piloting a jet fighter-bomber, while another turkey led an armored ground assault in a tank against a pilgrim village, already engulfed in flames from the aforementioned aerial bombardment. It is no wonder I received such high marks - my use of shadow and dimensional perspective was truly quite advanced for a second-grader, even by today's standards.
Well my friends, my task of housecleaning was nearly finished. I reduced four boxes down to two, just because there are some things that do not deserve to be torched. I was just about to call it a day when I dusted off the very last series of boxes, and gasped. There, tucked away in grimy obscurity and nearly forgotten, was my entire collection of Lego Building sets.
I must point out the magnitude of this find! I dedicated the better portion of my adolescence to matching and collecting an entire city of related Lego sets. There was, among others, the Octan Gas Station with carwash and optional fuel tanker, the Space Shuttle, the Coast Guard Clipper, the Launch and Load Seaport, the floating Deep-Sea Cruiser, the RV Camper set, the Rescue Station, and the Holy Grail - the Electric Train set. Within five minutes my floor was blanketed with multi-colored plastic blocks.
I was so enraptured that I completely lost track of time. Out of the din, my Lego city was resurrected (thankfully I kept the old instruction booklets!). There was the Space Shuttle, ready for launch. I snapped together my favorite set, a twin-engine high-wing airplane. Aah, yes, the landing gear has long since broken, after countless epic crashes.
Strangely, most of my Lego adventures involved biblical destruction. In one of my better buildups, the Space Shuttle missed its intended landing strip and had to touch down on Main Street. I've also jumped the train, and ran the "Atlantic" ocean liner aground. Thankfully it was winter and no windows were open in the house - I habitually found myself making boyish engine noises.
At about that time my phone rang. Joy! It was Ashley, calling me on her way home from work. Our 15-minute conversation included the following exchange:
"Hey! Remember all those Lego sets that I had stored away in boxes? Well, I've got them all put back together and I'm going to set them up in the office to make a nice display!"
Silence, followed by: "I can't believe you just spent the entire day playing with Legos..."
"I wasn't PLAYING with Legos, I was WORKING on them!" Sheesh - girls just don't get it.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
As a general rule of thumb, anything that I have accumulated and NOT used within the past year gets returned to its home - Mother Earth. With this credo in mind I began rooting through a series of stored boxes. Folks, it is amazing what memories can be resurrected by simple little objects! Starting from the top, I discovered some Australian newspapers from Sept. 11, 2001 that I brought home with the intent of framing them for display. Maybe I will, someday; until then, the historic papers shall be delegated to another box.
Oh, joy! Further down I came across some old prom pictures. Without so much as a second glance, I can assure you that the "glasses and braces" look is not my style, and never will be. Amazingly, my entire high school career has been reduced to a 24 X 48-inch cardboard box, because the undeniable truth is, that not everything deserves to be thrown away. These memories - pictures from the 2000 Monroe High School Capstone program, various FFA speaking awards, and the miscellaneous newspaper clippings - do not deserve to meet their demise just yet. For example, here was a photo I took of former FFA advisor John Emmons, looking uncharacteristically grouchy. Maybe I'll ask him if he wants it back...
Further down in the box produced progressively older objects, right down to grade school! Why, here was that journal Mrs. Stalder made us keep in fifth grade; sadly, my penmanship has not improved. Here was a paper that I wrote for Mr. Hyland's class, about a trailer park getting demolished by a tornado. It was an 'A' paper - maybe that's why I'll keep it. Another example of early Dan Wegmueller literature includes a thesis entitled "The Adventures of Imafreak," in which the hero inadvertently creates the Great Lakes via a faulty septic tank drainage field. Yes, my friends, creativity and originality has long flowed from these fingertips.
Just at the bottom of the box I uncovered the crème de le crème of my grade school career. The edges of this aged paper have tattered over the years, the hue yellowed slightly. Now, to all you parents out there, consider how you might react if your second-grade child were to proudly bring home something like this:
In my second grade art class, we were supposed to draw a Thanksgiving scene. Before I continue, let me point out that I ALWAYS got an 'A' in art class. Anyway, my second-grade Thanksgiving scene included a turkey piloting a jet fighter-bomber, while another turkey led an armored ground assault in a tank against a pilgrim village, already engulfed in flames from the aforementioned aerial bombardment. It is no wonder I received such high marks - my use of shadow and dimensional perspective was truly quite advanced for a second-grader, even by today's standards.
Well my friends, my task of housecleaning was nearly finished. I reduced four boxes down to two, just because there are some things that do not deserve to be torched. I was just about to call it a day when I dusted off the very last series of boxes, and gasped. There, tucked away in grimy obscurity and nearly forgotten, was my entire collection of Lego Building sets.
I must point out the magnitude of this find! I dedicated the better portion of my adolescence to matching and collecting an entire city of related Lego sets. There was, among others, the Octan Gas Station with carwash and optional fuel tanker, the Space Shuttle, the Coast Guard Clipper, the Launch and Load Seaport, the floating Deep-Sea Cruiser, the RV Camper set, the Rescue Station, and the Holy Grail - the Electric Train set. Within five minutes my floor was blanketed with multi-colored plastic blocks.
I was so enraptured that I completely lost track of time. Out of the din, my Lego city was resurrected (thankfully I kept the old instruction booklets!). There was the Space Shuttle, ready for launch. I snapped together my favorite set, a twin-engine high-wing airplane. Aah, yes, the landing gear has long since broken, after countless epic crashes.
Strangely, most of my Lego adventures involved biblical destruction. In one of my better buildups, the Space Shuttle missed its intended landing strip and had to touch down on Main Street. I've also jumped the train, and ran the "Atlantic" ocean liner aground. Thankfully it was winter and no windows were open in the house - I habitually found myself making boyish engine noises.
At about that time my phone rang. Joy! It was Ashley, calling me on her way home from work. Our 15-minute conversation included the following exchange:
"Hey! Remember all those Lego sets that I had stored away in boxes? Well, I've got them all put back together and I'm going to set them up in the office to make a nice display!"
Silence, followed by: "I can't believe you just spent the entire day playing with Legos..."
"I wasn't PLAYING with Legos, I was WORKING on them!" Sheesh - girls just don't get it.
- Dan Wegmueller is a columnist for The Monroe Times. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
