It's haunting me!

When I moved to Chicago, I knew I needed to pare down in a big way.  I was going from a 2-story townhouse I lived in by myself, to a 1-bedroom apartment I was going to share with Mike.  Therefore, I sold my kitchen table and four matching chairs.  I sold my coffee table and two end tables.  I asked my mom to store my second bed and matching furniture.  I donated an overstuffed chair.  I donated tons of clothes and paintings on the wall.  So you get it, I got rid of a ton of stuff.

Then when Mike and I were unpacking what I did bring to the city, he pulled this brown circular tube out of a box and exclaimed, "What is this???  A recorder??  How did a recorder make the cut?"

I laughed so hard, because I honestly had no idea.  I was forced to buy this recorder for my 4th grade music class at Jessup Elementary in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  I learned one song on it, an awesome rendition of "Hot Cross Buns."  (Really, it's not awesome and I don't think there is more than one way to play it, but that totally sounds better.)  I grabbed it from Mike, and threw it out. (Or so I thought!)

Then this week, as we moved into our new apartment, I went back to the old one to clean.  When I opened the door, the recorder was there as plain as day...sitting on the counter along with Lysol and other cleaning supplies.  I honestly thought I was being punked!  How did it get there?  Didn't I throw the damn thing away?

So in my life that's included 10 moves in 10 years, living in 5 states and getting rid of most everything, my 4th grade recorder somehow has survived.  There has to be deeper meaning to this....perhaps I missed my calling as a professional recorder player.  Perhaps I was meant to sell hot dogs on Michigan Ave.  Perhaps I have hot buns....