Tales from a Mid-Lifer

We grow up and make a home of our own. Some of us buy houses, condos or apartments. Whatever the structure, we collect some STUFF.

And, I’m not a collector. So, how did I end up with so much?

Photos capturing all we have done as a family make me smile. I have dozens in frames. My ratty, old sweatshirt is the softest, possibly ugliest thing I own. It brings me comfort. Some “things” make us feel like we’re home.

Throughout the years, I saved what I deemed was important. Used. Necessary. Special. Sure, the house was decorated and there were boxes of seasonal in the basement but that’s what everyone has, right?

No, not everyone has a basement. Nor kids. Nor athletes playing multiple sports. But, I can’t blame it on them. After all, I was the one who kept the trophies, jerseys and school papers. I also have plenty of my own clothes, boots, keepsakes and books…oh my gosh, the number of books I have shocked even me. 

Those who use the things of the world should not become attached to them. 1Cor 7:31 

Save, Toss, Donate

We’ve owned a few houses in our 31-year marriage and I know how to purge. I began with the usual go-through of holiday bins from Christmas to Easter. Then, closets. Sheet sets, blankets…things you need for slumber parties. No longer needed in the empty nest.

I donated costume jewelry that hadn’t been worn in years. The pandemic honestly removed the need for dressy blouses and jewelry that helped make “outfits”. My attire in the last year has become whatever is presentable, soft, and usually has an elastic waistband😉.

I tossed and donated boxes of stuff that left the premises. I chuckled at how easy it was. “I’ll have this place packed in a week”, I foolishly told myself.

I might use/want this “someday”.

I lifted my son’s championship trophy. I can’t get rid of this. Someday, I’ll have the “grandkids room” and plan to have my grandbabies parents (and aunts/uncle’s) childhood on display. Photos of them growing up…kind of show and tell when they ask about things, giving the history of their Daddy’s hockey career.

The deep purple quartz tree from The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Special mementoes from vacations. Things from The Smithsonian to the U.S. Capitol. I might want these on display in bookcases in the next house…

Husband: “Unless you donate another 200 books, there will be no room for these things on bookshelves!” I grimace at him.

Non-Negotiables

I had to reduce my “maybe someday” by drawing boundaries. Non-negotiables of course included photographs. Several scrapbook albums that I made, too many framed photos, and hard-copy prints.

Books. To my surprise, most were kids’ books. Don’t let me deceive you though: I have a mountain of my own. And, I love them. I reference them. I pull books off shelves that I know have a quote or story in it that I recall. Graduate school textbooks that will never be reprinted again, textbooks that I taught from, a decent amount of non-fiction and biographies…

I donated over 300 children’s books and nearly all the oldest textbooks, but couldn’t part with some that would not even be published in our current culture. I retained those I know will be referenced and/or re-read. Bibles are non-negotiables, despite my increasing reliance on my app.

Dining room. I don’t know if our next home will have a formal dining room but we’ve hosted countless dinners and nearly every single holiday for three decades. A crystal vase given to me as a gift from the Czech Republic was kept. Glass bowls from Home Goods were donated. My china set had expanded as people were added to our table. I expect to set a table again in the future.

Original writings. Kids’ high school papers that merely answered questions landed in the utterly gigantic burn pile (we had quite a bonfire). The creative stories and poems, major projects, etc., were retained and bound.

Artwork. Mine, theirs, and a few real-artist prints. We photographed what didn’t make the cut and stored the rest.

Sentiments. I’m guessing we GenXers are on the tail-end of snail mail, including hand-written thank you, birthday, congratulations, etc., cards. I have purged these previously, yet still had a lot. Grandparents no longer with us who wrote handwritten messages and lovely notes from former students were saved. The rest were re-read, then burned.

The original Mt. Everest of paper became a tiny molehill. 

The Storage Unit

Husband: “This stuff is going into temporary storage, then a completely different house without a basement. Likely not this big of a house. You need to make hard choices.”

Huff. It really doesn’t seem like that much to me after 16 years in this house. But, my husband intentionally purchased the 10×20 climate-controlled unit specifically to force the ongoing elimination of that which no longer serves a purpose.

Things that were things that are no longer things.

My maternal grandmother was Italian and maternal grandfather was Greek. There were gifts given at marriage that were deemed tradition and you kept them. It didn’t matter if you never used them. My grandparents came from nothing and built and bought everything.

And, we made stuff. Ceramics and crocheted afghans were just two of many “staples”. Getting married? Learn to make ceramics and decorate your home like I did with this in the 1990’s:

I sewed my own curtains for our first home. It was 1993, not 1963.

Per my mother and maternal grandmother, you save, save, save. Whether on display or in boxes, it’s like a crime to rid yourself of things you don’t use. I didn’t get that DNA thankfully, but dolls and silver sets were hidden in boxes in case my mother asked! (Shhh, they are in a happy, new home now.)  

New marriage? Afghan. New baby? Afghan. New house? Another afghan…

The following pic was from my grandmother’s house. The dolls were a very big deal. I had one on my bed nearly my entire childhood. She made one for my eldest daughter. She pulled it out of box announcing that it belonged in a museum.

Film. Negatives. Double prints. My husband questioned how I could throw photos into the burn pile. “They are doubles and triples…” I explain. He cares very much about this particular “save, toss, donate” situation. “Are you sure these are all somewhere?” Yes, of course.

“Mom, these photos are in a Wegmans envelope?” questions my daughter.

“Yeah, and I had to submit a roll of film and wait a week.”

She pauses, contemplating what a roll of film looks like from her childhood, followed by memories of old Wegmans having a photo section. My daughter marvels that we used film and wasted plenty, taking multiple shots when we suspected someone closed their eyes on the snap.

“You waited a week for your photos?!” my daughter’s mouth opens in disbelief. “Yes, we ancient of days 1990s people picked up and paid for photos that were dark and blurry, alongside the one that was great.”

I enlist help.

I call over the two kids who live here in town, then my youngest flew in and purged her own bins of stuff. I stand alongside them in the basement, in their bedrooms, smiling as they travel through time, via the material treasures. They announce joys and uncomfortable moments. They do things like this:

We reminisce. We laugh. I cry…

The Final Weeks.

A month into the purge, I’m over all of it. If the kids don’t want it now, they likely won’t want it later. There are a few vetoes that I know they will want, but I start tossing. I’m so tired, emotionally drained, and have accepted that our past family life will not look like our future life in the next house.

The remaining bins of “stuff” I was struggling with…how often would my new lifestyle really require such things? The big family gatherings will hopefully be on weekends, but no longer on the daily.

My husband sold everything from the patio sets to the dining room furniture to our clothes dryer. He gazes around the barren house announcing that he’s impressed with the kids and I reducing our earthly belongings to less-than-filling the storage unit. “I’m looking forward to this minimalistic life ahead,” he announces.

I’m confident that what is saved is precious, brings joy and remains important to our small, original tribe of five. The photos and albums are all going to the spare bedroom in the temporary apartment (no way I trust a storage unit-temperature controlled or not-with the most valuable memories).

So, where are we eventually headed? Tomorrow, I’ll introduce the current top contender…

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful week ahead!