Over the years we have gathered memories in the form of photos, journals, high school year books, etc. Some of the photos are in albums but most are totally disorganized in boxes. And in the tradition of my mother, there are no dates, names or identifying information. I stare at the pictures and try to determine the age of my children or siblings and what we were doing. I have pretty much divided the pictures between my three children, with some that I wish to keep. It has been a slow process and I want to stop strangers on the street and tell them to START ORGANIZING YOUR PICTURES NOW, before it’s too late! Or maybe I’m the only person who keeps photos in boxes in the top of my closet, but I don’t think so. I once went to a party and met guys with book shelves full of travel photos, organized in three ring binders by trip, year and clearly labeled. I’m afraid I never got that gene. Sure, I should scan them to CDs or the Cloud, but that’s not gonna happen. I also have a box of hand written journals that I started keeping about age 14 after reading The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. I have made my daughter swear that she will not read them until I am dead. They are boxed and ready for shipment. Pulling up roots has certainly been more of a self discovery process than I imagined. But truthfully, it’s one of the reasons we’re doing it.