there's something about thanksgiving weekend that always makes a person think about home and childhood and growing up and old friends. i think it's rare to experience (or should we call it 're-experience'?) it all in a long weekend, but somehow i did.
before i left my parents' house on friday, i was going through my old bookshelf when i discovered my artwork binder and sketchpads from junior high. they contained drawings, crafts (chinese paper cutting and origami), print-outs from my creations in MS paint, banners, and projects that ranged from 19th century fashion to my egg baby report in 8th grade. i also found a couple poems i had forgotten about writing regarding nature and war, as well as my packet from what looked like a church retreat and some old notes written to my best friend at the time. it was funny rediscovering the girl i was at that age and realizing that i was, and probably will always be, a special one. and there's not a darn thing wrong with that.
before i left my parents' house on friday, i was going through my old bookshelf when i discovered my artwork binder and sketchpads from junior high. they contained drawings, crafts (chinese paper cutting and origami), print-outs from my creations in MS paint, banners, and projects that ranged from 19th century fashion to my egg baby report in 8th grade. i also found a couple poems i had forgotten about writing regarding nature and war, as well as my packet from what looked like a church retreat and some old notes written to my best friend at the time. it was funny rediscovering the girl i was at that age and realizing that i was, and probably will always be, a special one. and there's not a darn thing wrong with that.
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