Cleaning up the childhood home

My parents bought their house in Brooklyn in 1988, shortly before my brother was born. I lived there until I went to college in 2003, returned for a few months here and there until moving out for good in 2007. They still live there, but no longer need the amount of space the single-family brownstone offers.

Also, they want to retire, so, they decided to sell it, renovate it into a duplex rent it out. As a result, I've been trying to clean out my childhood bedroom a little, every time I go home, preparing for the day when they finally do move out. Fortunately for me, I did a pretty thorough clean out when I moved to Saratoga in 2007. However, there's still a lot of crap in there, most of which is going to be hauled out the curb at one point or another. Some of it's worth saving, though.

A box full of shoe boxes
Each shoe box is full of pictures
Most of them, I'm sure, are not worth saving

On my last trip, I filled up a carton of photos, taken before we all gave up on film, sometime around 2004, or maybe even earlier. In my head, I had the idea of going through every photo (there are probably hundreds, but maybe thousands), and organizing them into albums or something. Knowing myself, though, it's more likely that I'll let them all continue to sit and collect dust for a while longer, until necessity prods me into action.

When that will be is anyone's guess. I'd bet that it'll happen sometime during the week before I actually move out my apartment, when organizing old photos will suddenly become a preferable alternative to some other, moving-related chore. When that will be, however, is also anyone's guess.

Anyhow, I did take the time to look through a couple of little albums that I found in one of the shoe boxes of photos. One of the highlights of my middle school experience was starting the Outdoor Sports Club with Brett. Together, we organized hiking trips and other outdoor activities for ourselves (and a few, mostly unwilling friends). I remember thinking that the photos were stoic, back in 1996. In 2012 (holy shit, it's been 16 years!), however, they look plain hilarious.

That's my Dad on the right,
back when he still had his mustache
I'm not sure what the log was all about

There's Brett, sitting on a rock
He now works at Ralph Lauren
They probably wouldn't approve of his old haircut

On a previous trip to Brooklyn, I loaded up a box of books. I love to read, typically ending each of my days with a few pages from one book or another -- a habit I picked up at a young age, after reading before bed with my parents. As such, I've accumulated a fair number of books, many of which have been in storage at Mom and Dad's place. In going through the shelves, though, it was funny to realize how much my tastes have changed over the years. For example, I quickly loaded up all of my Tom Wolfe books, the remainder of Vonnegut (most were already here in Emmaus), a bunch of Doctorows, Edward Abbey, Steinbeck, London, Heinlein, and many, many others. However, I didn't feel compelled to schlep any of the dozens of novels by Stephen King, Michael Crichton, or Tom Clancy. I suppose I'll bring those over to the used book store on my next trip to the city -- they'll make good beach reading for someone, as they once did for me.

The next step is to find a suitable book shelf for my apartment.

A box of books hiding in the shadows
I'm quickly running out storage spaces at home
I like to read, and I like having books around