When my boyfriend and I were together, he did this really cute thing where anytime he went out of town, he'd find a stone or a rock and bring it back to me. He said he did it so that I could feel like I'd been there too. Aaawww, so sweet. Then I found out that the reason he was out of town so much was because he had another girlfriend. Well, the other day I was digging through some old boxes and found these. It made me laugh. He got vacations and an extra girlfriend and all I got was...a bag of rocks. And when I found out about it I felt about as dumb as...

well, a bag of rocks.

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.

I tried to think of what I had left behind from past romances and failed miserably. No pink panties from Patty, no love letters from Mary, not even a photograph with a sentimental message from whatshername or whozis or can't recall. A faded picture of some Japanese girl waving at me while on R&R in Tokyo... Was she my mistress-for-the-week or the masseuse who danced on my back? Who knows? But then, those were all more lust than love.

On the other hand, if Sarah - my love-mate of 51 years - ever leaves me as she occasionally threatens to do when I wear my tattered, yard-work shorts into town, I will have to rent a warehouse to store all the stuff. Get rid of it? No way! Too many wonderful memories. Besides, I'm the kind of guy who invests in garage sale futures.

Signed, Hopelessly in love.

This is the first and last poem I ever received from a boy who was my first love. He is long gone, and it was many years ago, but I still remember it and him very fondly:

Take my heart tied with a bow.

Guard it carefully, never let it go.

If it falters, don't rant or rave,

lots of love and kisses will make it behave.

No stuff though - I threw the poem away when my mother found it and laughed at it.

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.