I spent the last weekend at the beach, but not actually
seeing the sand or ocean.
I could smell the salt marshes, and even that little bit
relaxed me.
We were heading into the arduous task of cleaning out the
house and downsizing. I had offered to help, so there I was. Helping.
As we loaded up the labeled boxes onto the truck, I had
to laugh.
I realized that literally, one man’s trash is another man’s
treasure.
I’m not sure if I would have moved all the stuff I
carried to and fro. A lot seemed to be things that could be tossed – to me.
However, the owner of said stuff had very different
feelings.
At first I questioned the logic of moving a multitude of boxes
of a dead woman’s shoes, but as I saw the agitation and stress from those
questions, I just backed off and moved the size 5s to their new home.
If Pop wants to keep JoJos shoes, who am I to say what
stays and what goes?
It made me think about my precious mementoes. Will The
Boy feel the same way about the grease-stained paper bag I’ve held on to for
all these years? I don’t think so. What about clothing I haven’t been able to
wear in 20 years because it’s made for a swizzle stick and I’m not that shape
any more?
Maybe it’s time to clean house and let go of those
things.
Easier said than done. I’m an emotional hoarder. I keep
things that are part of memories. Not a shoe box, but a box of old notes that I
passed between classes in high school. T-shirts that traveled the country with
me and my friends. Stuffed animals that held me close when I was scared of the
dark.
I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of purge, but I at
least realistically thought about it for a minute.
ps - I will never let Nancy the Sock Monkey go, even though she is safely tucked away in the guest bedroom closet in the box on the upper right hand corner shelf.
