Somebody Said That It Couldn’t Be Done – A Memory From Catholic School
When I went to Catholic school, one of the things that the nuns put a lot of emphasis on was memorization. We memorized long-ass prayers. We memorized the Latin words to hymns for choir.
Every week everyone had to choose, memorize, and recite a poem in front of the class. When your turn came, you had to be prepared – the nuns didn’t tolerate anything less. There were days that I was sweating it out at my desk while I struggled with a particular line trying desperately to commit it to memory while waiting for my turn.
As much as I resisted most of the rituals I experienced in my eight years at St. Paschal’s, I have to give those nuns kudos for their teaching methods. Not only did this particular exercise teach me to appreciate poetry, and read about authors of long ago, but in an attempt to memorize a long poem, if there were words or phrases that weren’t familiar to me, it forced me to look them up. Those nuns knew exactly what they were doing!
Once I understood the word or phrase, the meaning of the poem became more clear making it easier to memorize. I was then able to inject a little emphasis and personality into it that helped me entertain some very bored classmates instead of standing up there in front of everyone, sweating like a mutha and just regurgitating words.
In sixth grade I chose a particular poem in Sister Mary Kathleen’s class that has stuck with me. I recited it often to my kids as they were growing up, and I’ve called on it repeatedly to help pull me up by my bootstraps throughout my entire life.
Some things never go out of style. I hope you find inspiration in this quirky little poem and that it gives you encouragement and determination at times you may need it, just the way it has me and still continues to…
It Couldn’t Be Done
Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it!
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it;”
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure,
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
What To Do With Sentimental Keepsakes That Are Taking Over Your Storage Space In Ways That Won’t Rip Your Heart Out.
NOTE TO MY READERS
I’m trying to live a more minimalistic life by getting rid of some of the clutter in my home. If you’re a sentimental person, you know how difficult that can be.
Instead of blowing through storage bins and quickly mucking out closets and drawers, I find myself sitting in the middle of the floor going through old photos I ran across, reading old letters, smiling and crying simultaneously as I relive old memories.
While searching for ways to help me let go of my treasures, I remembered the following article I wrote several years ago. I’m taking my own advice and wanted to share it with you.
Memories of Childhood
I went to a Catholic school through the 8th grade. Nuns wore habits, were strict, and enforced rules and punishment. It was a life of rituals, uniforms, memorizing prayers and poems. Education was taken very seriously and consequences doled out for falling short.
I learned piano. I made lifelong friends. I won a National penmanship award. I kissed a boy for the first time. We hid behind the church during recess and played poker on the church steps. We wore white lipstick (that the nuns roughly wiped off). I walked to and from school and rode my bike to meet friends. It was a childhood that isn’t typical these days. My rosaries, holy cards, report cards, class pictures, etc. are all saved in a cigar box.
I went on to public school and became social. I met new friends, fell in love (several times), played sports, was a cheerleader, went to prom. I loved those years. My mementos let me relive those years of being young, having a strong athletic body, not being able to imagine myself at the age I am now, and dreaming of a future that resulted in a totally different reality.
Memories of Family
My mom was my best friend. When i married and had kids, she was who I called first to share good or bad news, get advice, or just to gossip. We sewed together once a week in our BPFC (Be Prepared For Christmas) club. We shopped. We shared recipes.
Mom died on my 28th birthday, when my kids were 2 and 3. I was devastated and it took me years to feel halfway normal again. Holding on to some of mom’s stuff, in an odd way, is holding on to a piece of mom.
Memories of an Earlier Life
I married at 21. We had a good couple years of marriage that produced two great kids. His job took him in and out of town. We grew apart. The marriage ended 9 years later. That was years ago, we remain friends, and each of us are happily remarried, but the things I’ve kept from those years are tied to a marriage and time when my kids were part of a two-parent family. So I feel I need to save those things to pass on to them.
Memories of Children
I was a single mom for most of my kids school years. It was us against the world, creating memories, tackling life head-on, and living our lives to the fullest as best we could. Although those years were a struggle financially, they were some of the best years of my life. I’m proud of the adults my children have become, and I’m proud of myself for powering through some really difficult years that resulted in the relationship I now have with my kids. The “things” I’ve saved from those years are precious to me.
Are You a Sentimental Person?
So… how do you get rid of sentimental things if you’re a sentimental person? First of all, who says we have to? I’m a sentimental hot mess and have trouble letting go…of anything. When I love someone (or something), I love it hard! I cry easily.
My kids saying “I love you, mom” always causes a lump in my throat.
Seeing the 12th man kick in when watching a nail-biter Seahawks game (GO HAWKS!) makes me cry.
Holding a baby, ANY baby, brings tears to my eyes – every stinkin’ time!
So I’m sorry to all the minimalists out there who coldly advise getting rid of sentimental clutter because they’re just “things”. Yeah, blah, blah, blah. Maybe they are just things, but there are some things I just WILL not and CANNOT let go. I say, if you’ve got the room for it, and it means something to you, KEEP IT!
I do agree, though, that saving everything that holds a memory can get out of hand. So here are some ideas for choosing what things to keep, uses for the things you save, and minimizing the space needed to store those things you can’t let go of…
Elementary school artwork and projects, report cards, detention slips, essays, etc. Letters, cards, and notes.
Pull out your favorite few, or one item for each school year. If you can’t dump what remains, pack them all in a storage container and label it. If you don’t revisit that storage container in the next few years, throw it away without looking through it again, or ask your kids if they’d like to have them.
Take pictures of your favorite ones. Store the pictures on a disc or jump drive. Make them into photo books and gift them to your kids.
Make a scrapbook or shadowbox.
Your wedding dress, the bunting your baby wore home from the hospital, the t-shirt you bought in Mexico, your grandma’s pillbox hat, your cheerleading sweater, your dad’s favorite belt buckle, your favorite jeans from four sizes ago.
If they make you happy, turn them into display pieces. Make a shadowbox with pieces of these items grouped with pictures of you/them wearing them. Turn all those memorable t-shirts into a quilt.
If you’re saving clothing you hope you’ll fit into again, GET RID OF THEM! Although you may be holding on to them for motivation, I don’t know about you, but if I get back down to that size, I’ll be celebrating by buying NEW clothes!
Your grandma’s china, your dad’s favorite belt buckle, the framed picture of your great-aunt, your mother-in-law’s wedding ring, your mom’s old cookie press.
Use it. If they’re functional, and will serve a purpose in your home, use them. Take a quick picture of them and put them in your drawer or cupboard. Everytime you use that item it will bring back a happy memory. So, use grandma’s china. If you break some pieces, it’s okay. Mom would get a kick out of you struggling to make spritz cookies using her old cookie press, and you KNOW she’d be okay with you eventually replacing it for a new one.
Display it. Hang that old picture of great aunt Hilda. Pull out other vintage photos of relatives and group all these together on a family wall.
Wear it. Have dad’s buckle shined and polished. Wear it yourself or give it to your brother, husband, son. Use it as an embellishment on a purse or clothing. Wear the ring on a chain, or take out the stones and have it reset in a more modern setting.
Give Yourself As Much Time As You Need
I feel that allowing yourself moments to relive and revisit memories can be healing. It can ground yourself by giving you a chance to revisit your past and pat yourself on the back for the progress you’ve made. It can remind you of plans you had for your future, and inspire and re-motivate you to attain those dreams. It can comfort you.
Are You Living In The Past?
I say that if you’re thoughtful about which items to keep, take steps to preserve them properly, organize and label any containers where they live, and if you have the room to store them, then do it. Who are you hurting? I don’t think it means you’re living in the past.
It’s true that these things are just “things”, but things, just like smells, taste and touch, can morph you back to a memory or a time that is close to your heart. My mom touched that sewing pattern, studied it over a cup of coffee, made notes on it, and was excited to start sewing it once we were all tucked away in bed.
My kids held the crayon that colored that picture of the three of us, carried it home from school and proudly handed it to me with their little 1st grade hands. I’ll be damned if I’ll let those things go.
Am I wrong?
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