Packing up a home is not a job. It's a process.

It's raining and I'm packing, eating Cheetos and drinking apple juice. My progress is slow because I'm reminiscing, weeding through a box of old letters and newspaper articles from my long career in journalism. I've parted with many an old item. I've saved more than I should.

Here's a sample of what I've found so far:

• A Hawaiian angel pin with a gorgeous pink-and-blue flower pattern across its little robed body. I can't remember who went to Hawaii and brought this back for me. It's perfectly useless. I don't wear pins and it will continue to sit in a drawer where no one sees it. But the colorful pattern makes me feel happy and somehow hopeful. Saved.

• At least a dozen sealed condoms in every color of the rainbow, including a black-labeled, apparently extraordinary Kama Sutra condom, plus a four-pack that promises a quartet of fruity flavors. Do these things go bad? Even after five years? I think not. Saved.

• A ticket to a Colorado Rockies April 19, 2001 baseball game, with the name "Iain" scrawled in my hand across the bottom. A card that accompanied a dozen roses sent by Iain from Seattle in on Valentine's Day 2001. "I love you, and miss you. Can't wait to see you again!" My throat aches. Both saved. (I know, I know, but not just yet.)

• A Denver Post front page with my bylined story above the fold. Saved.

• An old checkbook with an entry for Gail Meinster, the court advocate in our custody battle who wasn't supposed to take sides but who became my friend anyway. Tossed.

• A Hallmark envelope thick with a letter bearing the return address of "Alisa Nelson," a once-dear friend who broke our friendship with a slap to my face in a Galveston, Texas park. The story is long, and years later, I'm not so sure I was right in what I said to provoke that slap. Far too late for second thoughts. Tossed, not re-read.

• A container of peppermint-flavored "Dick Tarts", a present for my 40th birthday. Tossed. (Sorry, April)

• A copy of a wedding certificate, sealing my marriage to Zach on ... July 9? How could that be? For years, I've thought it was July 24. I wonder just what July 24 really is. I forget to check the year but am quite sure it was 1993. But it's entirely likely I'm wrong on that, too. Tossed.

• A newspaper clipping of a Christmas Summit Daily News staff photo taken almost 10 years ago. I'm holding a baby Robby. Even though most of us were in our early 30s, everyone looks ridiculously young to me, all with open, optimistic, watch-out-world smiles and nary a gray hair. Saved.

• Two letters sent around 1990 from my friend Lane to my then-new home in Dillon, She was on the hunt for a new job and had just met Bill, now her husband of several years. She refers repeatedly to Z-Man, my ex, and the Nookster, the Alaskan Malamute we later, tearfully, put to sleep in the wake of two vicious attacks on other dogs. We are still good friends, but oh, do I see in her flowing cursive how our lives have changed. Saved.

• A copy of the entertainment section I created for Summit Newspapers, with a cover story called "The Best Part of a Man." A massive, smooth male chest is spread across the cover. The layout inside includes photos of another man's chest (this one hairy), shoulders and eyes, It's a story in which I surveyed women about their favorite things about men - including characteristics like sensitivity. I cannot believe the paper allowed this. I cannot believe I wrote it. The winner, by the way: chest. Saved.

• A mini travel blow dryer with extra, European outlet connections from a 2000 trip to Italy. Connections, tossed (it's not that I won't go back; I just haven't blown dry my hair in years). Blow dryer - damn cute - saved. (I didn't say these decisions would be logical, did I?)

• A decade-old interview and photo of me in the Summit papers' company newsletter on my coverage of a murder trial, a rare happening in mountain resort communities. My final quote was this: "I'm in journalism for life. I know I'll never be rich, but this is my passion."

Tossed.