Well I know why . . . when I try to get rid of some of my ‘stuff’ especially when they are things I have tried to cull in the past, the emotional attachment starts to speak a lot louder than common sense. Common sense says that “You haven’t laid eyes on it for years (in some cases), no-one else has any attachment to it so get rid of it!” But then there is that little “ah” and a smile at a memory that happens which prevents me form putting it in the smaller of two piles. The piles being ‘Keep’ and ‘Get-it-out-of-the-house-asap!’
The reason for this clearing out of ancient bits and pieces came about when I had to get everything out from under a bed to move it and empty a small bedside cabinet, previously my mother’s, to give to my grandheart. And of course when you start, somehow other cupboards and beds start to yield up their bounty.
Some of it has taken up residence in my tiny office . . . it was tidy but now I can barely get in there and until I start cleaning that up . . . oh take pity on me when I start! Instead of “if in doubt, chuck it out!” it will be “I’ll keep this, it might come in handy!”
So there I am with an untidy pile of old tat all over the floor, tripping me up, stuff that I haven’t touched for years yet somehow I can’t part with much of it . . . and I’m not talking about resources for art or craft work! So far I have managed to be fairly ruthless however there are other things that will sit in a box, and sit, and sit until some time way off in the future when space is more of an issue. Things like: a card I discovered, from me to my mother that she kept (actually I’ve now decided to toss that); the little notebook she had less than a year before she died where, in her shaky 96 year-old handwriting, my address and phone number appears on every second as does her own; a letter, not dated, from years before where her writing was strong and purposeful. There is no getting rid of some things . . . it’s just too difficult.
I have jewellery, not good, from umpteen years ago, not worn for yonks . . . .that’s all going (unless I think some of the bits might be useful to make a wigwam for a goose’s brindle some time). And can you tell me why did I keep the hideous Harry Potter-like spectacles I wore about 35 years ago? Furthermore, why didn’t anyone tell me they were so fugly? These are the easy things, these and the brass bells and candlesticks from the 1970s. Why did I keep them in the first place?
And after this lot is taken care of, after the office has been culled and organised, after I’ve dropped things off to the second-hand shop and made a trip to the tip . . . well then I have to start on the mementoes from 7 years of living overseas and travelling around the world. I know I’ll feel great when it’s done but heaven forfend! Save me from myself!