A rainy holiday weekend forced me to confront a cleanout project that I've been putting off for months. Several boxes of my childhood mementos needed to be sorted through and downsized.

Everything from the hospital bracelet I'd had attached to me upon birth through my college years had accumulated over the years and it was time to determine what needed to be saved for posterity and what needed to go.To prepare myself for the purge, I spent several minutes Googling "minimalist" looks, hoping to be inspired by clean lines and lack of clutter. I also enlisted the aid of my kids, telling them they could help me clean things out now, or give up their own storage space to aid and abet my pack-rattery. G immediately mumbled something about mud puddles and frogs, and slithered out the door before I could impress him into any sort of labor.E and A, however, were only too happy to help. E's primary motivation was a case full of Barbie dolls that she had netted from a previous downsize and although A wouldn't admit it, I think he was secretly hoping that at some point in my life, I'd been as ardent a Pokémon collector as he is and we might uncover some hidden trove of rare cards. (I wasn't and we didn't.)We lost E rather quickly, as the first box I opened contained a slew of dance recital costumes. The 1980s were a particularly "colorful" decade for dance costumes, and she was quickly consumed by swaths of gold lamé, miles of neon fringe, and a plethora of sequins. E was more than happy to play dress-up, and I now know that if time travel ever becomes a reality, she will be setting the dial for 1986. Also, I wasn't allowed to throw anything from that box away.The next box I opened was basically "Liz: the Elementary Years." I found my first real treasure: the very first piece of writing that I ever did. It was a creative writing assignment for first grade, titled "Life inside a Marble," and it even included the marble, taped delicately to the page. We were to imagine ourselves inside the marble, looking out. I had decided to share my marble living space with dinosaurs, and told the story in about six sentences. The teacher called it "a good start" but said that I "needed to organize my thoughts better."I asked A what he would write about, and ever the pragmatist, his first answer was that he'd have to figure out a way to anchor himself so that when people outside the marble rolled it around, he didn't fly all over the place. "No dinosaurs?" I asked him. "No, Mom. No dinosaurs." Someone doesn't know how to have any fun in Marble World.As I moved into "Liz: The Middle and High School Years," I found more samples of my writing. From articles in the school newspaper, detailing life growing up on the farm, to interviews with new teachers and students, to a column that I and another student submitted weekly to an actual newspaper outlining upcoming school activities, writing was an integral part of who I was as a student.I also found several essays that I submitted for my senior English class. "Boring." "What is the point of this?" So much red pen. Not much of my original writing survived unscathed. My instructor's comments were brutal. I can remember being crushed at the time, but looking back at them now, I can see that he was right. I still hear Mr. N's voice in my head when I write something that I know isn't up to snuff.Those comments paid off and as I moved into "Liz: The College Years," it became apparent that the suffering had been worth it. I found a paper I had written for an upper level American history seminar. Sadly, the print from my dot matrix printer had faded to the point of being illegible, but the instructor's comments, in the ubiquitous red pen, remained."I completely disagree with everything you've written; however, you've stated your argument so eloquently and supported it so brilliantly, I have to award you an A+. Somewhere along the way, someone taught you how to write well." Being that it was a history paper, I thought back to another instructor I'd had "along the way," a history teacher, Mr. S. Mr. S was a stickler for "just the facts," and relentlessly enforced the "introduction, body of support, and summary conclusion" format for all the papers written in his class.While I had been meandering through the "History of Liz's Writing," A had stumbled on a stack of my old report cards. It wasn't Pokémon, but he gleefully uncovered my less than stellar grades (thank you, math and handwriting) and was quick to point out where his grades were just as good, or even better than mine in English and science, my two favorite subjects.He also pointed out several comments denoting my "lack of organization" and "more effort needed." "Mom, that's what you always tell me! Now I guess I know where I get it from!" Touché.Until it was all said and done, the garbage pile didn't grow very much last weekend. I decided there were a few lessons in those boxes that still had some mileage in them.Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.