It was my first vacation away from my parents. I was 13 years old and it was really a babysitting job that took me to a resort up in the mountains. My job was to sit at the resort with the kids while the rest of the family went out skiing and snowmobiling.

With nothing better to do we moseyed into the arcade. There he was! The boy of my dreams (he was probably 16, an older man!) My hormones were racing but I had a responsibility, so came back later that night.

I had never kissed a boy, let alone a french kiss. Long story short, the parents of the kids caught us making out and I got into a load of trouble. I walked away from it with a secret treasure. Mid sucking face, he had given me his already-been-chewed gum. I found it in a baggy 13 years later. Who keeps that kind of stuff?!! It goes way past the point of sentimental and it's really gross but is an essential reminder of my first kiss.

I was 20 years old and living with my girlfriend, Heather, who decided she wanted to get a kitten. I thought about it for a millisecond and said, "No way, I don't want the responsibility." The next day we brought home Zoe -- a very sweet, cute and cuddly kitten. But, Zoe was Heather's cat, not mine.

Fast forward a few years. We're broken up, but somehow we've arranged for shared cat-custody. Not that I wanted Zoe to stay with me, but I was willing to take her while Heather visited her folks for Christmas, toured around Europe, or whatever. A few weeks here, a month there, I could handle the responsibility for awhile. But, Zoe was Heather's cat, not mine.

Enter new boyfriend, Rob. "Rob's allergic to cats. Would you take Zoe?" I knew this could turn into a long-term situation, so I said no. Despite his allergies, the three of them moved in together. Things are going well, they get engaged, they start nesting, and they buy some very nice leather furniture. My phone rings. It's Heather. "You have to come get Zoe right now! Rob is on his way home from work..." (BTW, Rob's a cop... a cop with a gun) "... and Zoe clawed his favorite leather chair. He's going to kill her."

Like any good, spineless, ex-boyfriend, SPCA-Volunteer would, I rescued Zoe from the wrath of Rob... 16 years ago. At 19 years old, Zoe outlasted several of my relationships, survived puking into my CRT computer monitor without getting electrocuted, healed from the self-inflicted pencil puncture, and even bossed around my 100 pound German Shepherd. Nine lives? Hell, this cat made a feline-pact with the Devil! I ask myself daily, "how much longer can she live?" She doesn't age! No disease, no feline leukemia, no gingivitis, not even a urinary tract infection! Heather gets her man and fancy leather furniture, and I get Heather's mother's boyfriend's awful rattan furniture (long story) and Zoe.

These were the words my first true love wrote to me: "Keep This Until You Die!" We were so in love. Tamara was a graduating Senior in High School, and I was lowly Junior. Our love knew no bounds (except for the fact that her father was a minister, so Tamara's bounds were just above her belly button). During the summer we hung out at the beach, took long walks, and dined at fine establishments like Burger King. One night, for no particular reason, Tamara took the Burger King receipt and wrote "Keep This Until You Die!" and then handed it to me. I looked deep into her eyes and whispered, "I'll cherish this forever!" She went off to college. I cheated on her. She broke up with me. I dumped her love letters, funny cards, and even the pink panties she gave me when she left for college. But the receipt remained. The Damn receipt. I couldn't throw it out. "Keep This Until You Die!"

Now, I'm not one to believe in karma, or bad luck or fate or whatever you want to call it, but what if I did throw it out? Could that somehow be symbolic that my end is near? The receipt currently resides in a special wooden box that I got from my Grandfather. The kind of box that holds stuff with special meaning. Stuff that you don't know what to do with, but you can't possibly part with. After more than 20 years remaining basically undisturbed, here's the content of the box: - Grandfather's slide-rule money clip - Pocket knife I received in Junior High - Silver ring my parents got me in Greece - Three $2 bills - A Mickey Mouse pin - A keychain from my sister's wedding - And a Burger King Receipt from 1986 that reads "Keep this Until You Die!" I'm sure I could throw the receipt away. And I'm sure that I would lead a very long, healthy life. But why chance it?

Never pick your wedding China because you think it's "funny." Irony has it's place, but now, eight years after a divorce, I'm stuck with "friendly village" dinner plates that I can't throw away because they were way too expensive. Everytime I put one in the dishwasher I say a little prayer that it'll break. Six down, four to go.

A spatula doesn't often spring to mind as an object steeped in significance but I came across one recently that made me smile. It was packed away in a box of stuff from what seems like a previous life - old LP's, college mementos, highschool yearbooks, a stack of old pictures and letters and one, never used, spatula, still sporting a curly blue ribbon and card saying "Who's your buddy? Love, Steve."

It was the first gift he gave me - a funny reference to a scene in the movie "Stripes" that had made us laugh and became an inside joke. And I remember not being able to throw it away when we broke up.

Now, some 20 years later, finding it in that box was a sweet reminder of my first serious relationship. But I couldn't quite bring myself to toss it in the drawer with the rest of the utensils so I sent it on it's way to Goodwill to start life over as just a spatula... but the ribbon and card went back in the box.