In our garden is a bus - we used to live in it, but now it's a guest room, but also a storage room for things we don't use in the house, or might only use infrequently - the sewing machine, bottles for brewing beer, Fowler's jars. There's also boxes of photos and documents that we sort out once every few years, throw a few things out, and then forget about them.

How do people hoard boxes and boxes upon boxes of this stuff, when it's so very rarely opened? How many memories do we need to keep - a half finished scribble of a butterfly, unlabelled, or a story you started writing but never finished and never will? A ticket stub to a concert you don't remember going to? Spelling tests from your son's 3rd year in school? I mean, come on.

In an age of digital storage, it's a wonder we even keep them at all. All the photographs and old school essays can be scanned. Yet there's something special in pulling out and feeling and touching a card that someone bought your late grandparents bought for your son's 1st birthday or a ticket stub to a concert, or a semi blurred photograph of you in your late 20's on a beach in Thailand. One day, perhaps, my son will pull them out and remember us when we're gone. That, I joke about - if I die when I'm overseas, it's all organised for you.

^{A message from my long dead grandparents - an expression of love across the years.}

That's what this particular sort out is all about - making sure it's organised in case we don't come back. If we don't, of course it doesn't matter - what will I care when I'm dead and gone? But I don't really want to keep the old diaries from my 20's anymore. My Hive writings are more than enough, if they find their way through the virtualscapes to find them or bother to read through five years of archives.

This time I reflected a lot on me as a writer, as I found a stack of stories of mine that Mum had kept, all from high school. I loved writing even then. There's at least thirty of them and I marvel at my imagination as a kid. It's coming back to me now, through writing on Hive, but it's cool to see it's something I have always enjoyed doing.

And clearly Jarrah inherited some of that from me - his high school essays and stories are brilliant, with his sharp wit and humour and vocubulary that quickly surpassed my own. Jamie argues Jarrah wouldn't care about that stuff, but perhaps he will when he's older, or when Ned's older.

My Grandad is a hero because he helps entertain me - he will grow up to name his first born for my father, well, his second name anyway. I think this is the only spelling error he ever made, for the record.

There's also a copy of the newspaper the day after I was born. Nothing too exciting, but a few funny ads. In the 70's they were arguing to get rid of the criminalisation of homosexual acts - would you believe this didn't happen in some states of Australia til very recently? And you could get pointy bras for two bucks.

With Jarrah's old exercise books I cut the blank pages out, staple the pages together and write on it the year and a little note if I feel like it - something like: 'Jarrah really loved drawing cars at this age' or 'you really missed your grandparents'. It's the kind of thing I'd love to see in a box of memories when my folks go, although I'm not sure my Mum could be bothered doing it.

It's lovely to rediscover old photographs I'd forgotton - an earnest, smiling little boy, a photograph of me kissing Jamie on the day after we met, us on our honeymoon, a photo of me at 18 with my horse. I keep thinking I'll scan them all so they're digitalised, but it takes a long time. At least they are sorted now so when I have more time I can do it more mindfully.

I'd only kept a few school reports of mine - the later years made me feel sad, as I didn't have the best time at high school. Clearly I kept these to remind me how clever I used to be.

Some I throw out - duplicates, blurry photos, ones that mean nothing as they have no people in them. I fold large post it notes over stacks, note the year and significance, and pop a large paper clip over them. I get a sharpie and mark on the tub exactly what's in there - school reports, old essays, photographs and so on. In this way I gradually reduce three tubs to only two.

It feels good to get the job done. Now I feel like I don't need to touch it, unless there's a reason to get something out, like photos of Jarrah when he was little to share with my grandson when he's old enough to care. You can live a minimalist lifestyle but still treasure a box or two of memories stacked neatly in a tub in a bus.

Do you keep all your memorabilia? How do you organise it, keeping minimalist ideas in mind?