At our advanced age, I have noticed that my husband and I tend to accumulate stuff. We’re not the only ones, either. All our friends have the same problem – What to do with all the stuff they have accrued over the course of a lifetime? Sometimes the stuff has been with us so long that we no longer are aware of it. It lines the bottom of drawers. It hides at the back of the pantry. It hangs in our closets, untouched for years. It draws dust.
So we vow to begin a campaign to rid ourselves of unnecessary clutter.
I start with clothing. I grab a big, ugly, black plastic bag.
But then, as I examine the frilly blouses, the once-stylish jeans, the frayed wool coat, I see them with younger eyes. I remember what I was thinking when I first bought them – where I wore them – who was with me and how they liked the way I looked – how I felt. Now they sit like wallflowers at a dance, waiting for an opportunity to be noticed – waiting for a chance to be wanted again. But they are old and outdated. How can I simply toss them aside to be buried in a landfill? Or to be exported to some far-away country only to be cremated without so much as a word of thanks for their years of service? And I realize that I am stuck. I leave them where they are, knowing that they will remain as long as I do.
So I move on to housewares. But there I am greeted with a similar dilemma. Mom gave me those wine glasses. The pink china dishes came from my mother-in-law – and from her mother before her. The faded dishtowels were a gift from a friend who’s no longer with us. The tchotchkes on the wall – all imbued with memories of Christmases and birthdays gone by. The wedding gifts inscribed with our names. We chose none of these for ourselves – but someone dear wanted us to have them as a love offering. They need no other reason to be here.
So – our house will never make the front cover of Architectural Digest. It is a bit messy and cluttered. If we had the energy, we could host a party for twenty, but nothing would match.
And so it goes. Periodically, I go on a tear – stuff that plastic bag full of memories and carry them to the garage. For a minute I feel triumphant and free. Then I quietly close the garage door and remember – they’re still here.