Keepsakes or just things to keep?!?

My mom (with manual labor help from my dad and brother) has been cleaning out her basement.  A couple of weeks ago I took 3 boxes of stuff home and then again this week she told me to come get more (3 more boxes, consolidated down to 1 before I even left her house, thank goodness).  No one would challenge the fact that I was a strange kid in junior high, high school, and . . .  oh wait, I still am strange.  One example of my strangeness is that I keep stuff.  I keep things that I think might have sentimental value later on or that someone trying to learn about me in 100 years might want to see . . .  whatever.  Here is a list of some things I have found.  Some of the things on this list I am keeping, but others are going in the trash.

• This cool picture of me, my guitar, the mountains, and two of my most favorite people
• Cards - birthday cards, graduation cards, thank you cards . . . from family members, my piano teacher, parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents.  Some that I've kept have special hand-written notes in them from the latter three categories, as well as some goofy ones from my sister (one with stencils of giraffes).
• Letters - a pen pal named Sidney from elementary school, a couple of friends who moved during junior high school, my girls state friends who I wrote back and forth to (long before twitter or facebook) all summer long, coo-coo letters from my cousin Natalie telling me about the weather and drawing me pictures
• Notes - Mostly good ones from my mom telling me in different ways that I am good enough, smart enough, and that doggonit, people like me.  There was one cool note from my dad that I honestly don't remember getting, but I'm glad I saved it.  It was written after a particularly stressful basketball game in junior high (one of only a couple of games that I actually remember) that involved a hot-headed player on my team, me throwing a bottle of water, and my mom and grandma escorting me by the elbows out to the back steps of the Brockbank gym to tell me that I was never to do that again.  My dad was basically re-assuring me that it is important to be a good sport even though sometimes your team members are not.  It was a cool note and the only one I came across that was written by my dad and not just my mom signing his name.
• Strange things - random college books - a water-damaged notebook/journal with entries from my first trip to Europe, a trip to Washington, D.C., and canoe trips to Yellowstone and the Tetons - a notepad with ideas planning my skit when I ran for SBO in high school - a wallet picture holder with photos of my uncles - awards from high school - lots of newspaper clippings of Utah basketball (when there were things worth clipping about) - a homemade bookmark with the phrase "Keith Van Horn is God" on it - a coin purse with "Reno" printed on it - my high school drafting kit - tickets to the homecoming dance my senior year that I planned and decorated for but didn't actually go to - dance photos from some of my friends with their dates to Sadie Hawkins (another one I didn't go to and I have no idea how I got the pictures) - a room key from the Disneyland Hotel - my high school graduation announcement - an essay about Hitler from Smelser's "Age of Total War" class at the U and my notes from one of my other favorite classes, "The History of Rock and Roll"
• A box of books from my Grandma Petersen's library that were headed to the DI, but have dedicatory type hand writing in the front of them (like gifts) from someone, all different people.  I saved them.  

I quickly went through it all at my mom's to try to minimize the trash brought to my own house, but now I am trying to go through it again and divide it into 3 piles - 1) Stuff to keep in a box in the basement, 2) Stuff to take to school, 3) Stuff that I can actually use now (or give to Molly).

I don't know why I keep this stuff.  Some of it is kind of strange, but I like it.  It gives me a glimpse of my own weirdness, but it also gives me a glimpse of my own heritage.  I have a piece of handwriting from each of my grandparents and my parents.  I think that is pretty cool!  It's a way to keep them and their memories alive . . . like the birthday card reminding me that my Grandma Huber gave me a toaster oven for my birthday when I was 16 and that she always called me "HQ."