I’ve been cleaning closets and sorting through things that haven’t seen the light of a day for years. I’ve been finding a lot of old memories; cards, notes, trinkets; and having a wave of nostalgia I haven’t felt in a long time.
The corners of this house are stacked with memorabilia, a lot of it is just junk and I find myself wondering why the hell I saved it in the first place. Other things are items I saved ‘for’ the kids – special things I thought they might like to keep. It turns out the kids didn’t, and don’t, want most of this stuff – it seems I saved it for myself.
I think this is a common phenomenon, mothers tucking away memories with the hope the items stir the same emotion in the child it was saved for as it did in the mother who tucked it away. But it never does. The now adult child looks at the offering with an unanticipated perspective – they are detached, they don’t remember playing with that antiquated toy or wearing that threadbare pair of overalls. What had stirred a giant pot of happy memories in the mother’s heart is just a worn out, out-of-date object to the child.
I’ve taken several trips to The Superfluity store and have filled more than one garbage bin – the house seems to be breathing a sigh of relief but growing a little distant in the process. The more junk I sift through the more value what remains seems to have. I am detaching from this clutter. Most of this stuff is just stuff.
This isn’t to say I’m turfing all my memories, there is some stuff I can’t bare to part with. I have boxes full of notes written in little kid handwriting, cards signed with love, a sweater with holes in the elbows and the faint familiar fragrance of the past – priceless stuff, stuff nobody else will ever want, stuff that’s not worth a dime but so valuable it gives me an ache in my chest. This is the stuff that is making the cut.
All of this sorting and turfing and remembering has made me homesick in my own house. My life within these walls has been happy and messy and all this clutter is proof of that. But the memories of those happy and messy times don’t reside in the clutter – they live in my heart. I think I may be coming to a place where those memories and I can move forward without some of this clutter. I’m keeping the good stuff and turfing the rest.
Comments (4)
I’m doing the same.
Big brothers came one day for 15 bags. Diabetes came Wednesday took another 10 or 12 bags. And then there is the real junk, piled and stacking up in the side yard. I’m just waiting for the kids to do their final choices of the tools, the golf clubs, the hobby tools etc before the guy with a truck comes for it all.
Im starting to feel like my mother does. None of the kids want any of the stuff. They got their own stuff now.
So looking forward to a day closer to the end of my first clean out. There will be more i’m sure as the months pass.
I would love to say it was all my husband’s, that he was the collector but alas, i know i just havent hit the cupbaords where all my stuff rests. In all fairness i will commit to cleaning out mine too, and be just as fearless. But i don’t think im going to find 32 pairs of glasses , 27 coats and umpteen baseball hats in my stuff – just saying. Oh i didnt count the tshirts, a number so high the thought is numbing.
The only thought that makes me sane is that if i was the one gone…he’d be even more lost in the sorting. At least i know what most of his stuff was used for. I dont think he could have said the same. I cant imagine him mired in 200 spools of thread, umpteen metres of fabric, 6 sewing machines. a multitude of small kitchen appliances, hey! maybe that’s why he made sure he went first- now that i think about it. Hummmmm….i’ll have to think about that little twist.
So be it. Here’s to another closet- another cupboard and 1 more drawer. Moving forward….
It’s mind boggling,isn’t it. Keep up the good work Linda!
Great job. If you want help, I can be available for a big sort. Just let me know. Mine was full of tears and I had some one who was ruthless with me to direct. I would still be in that mess if not for Lisa. Cheer up, it gets better. Les
Thanks Leslie. I’m making headway.