I promise that I have made great strides in my quest to de-clutter my life. I have been taking a tougher stance as I examine the things in my cupboards.
Recently I had a major setback in the streamlining of my life when my Dad’s wife moved out of her home. To my husband’s surprise and dismay, I used my little red wagon to cart home box after box of her “memorable” possessions. I stacked the smaller items in the back of my kitchen. The rescued rocking chairs and earth-toned rugs went into our shop, waiting for distribution. I created chaos in our own home in my quest to spread these manifestations of her love among the family who loved her.
The phone lines were buzzing as I called sisters, children, nieces and nephews with the list of memories they might want to have.
These aren’t just things, they’re bits of our past. Those of us who lived within the hug of her acceptance will never see a Bauer dish, a brown crock or a unique old basket without the past rushing over us like a warm bath. Her home was a hodgepodge of color and comfort (held together with dust and cobwebs) that displayed what she cherished.
And it was time for change. She has settled into her life near her daughter and I have cleared my counters and floors of most of her treasures. The even allotment of her worldly goods even spurred me to pass on some of the wonderful keepsakes that she had given me through the years. Everyone and everything is in a good home.
Except three lids.
There is no real value here unless someone should need one of them. Yet, if the lid to a precious piece is chipped or broken, any one these colored bits of pottery becomes priceless. How can I throw them away?
This is evidence to me that I have retained a bit of the depression era mentality that was pervasive in my parental pod.
Does anyone need a lid? Anyone? Anyone?
Note: This piece was created for and published by the website Vision and Verb (http://www.visionandverb.com), …a global gathering of women of this age, on January 10, 2012.