Ah the joy of downsizing.
We are moving into a smaller, but quite lovely, condominium in a few weeks. Part of our reason: We Want To Downsize!
Perhaps it’s because we’ve gone through the agonizing process of clearing out Bob’s parent’s house. The family picked through rusted old coffee cans filled with dusty nails and unused screws, pilfered through Fostoria, serving platters, and finely painted china, and passed on mid-century furniture to children who are setting up home for the first time.
Bob and I don’t have anyone who’s obligated to manage our junk when we grow old, so we are determined to make it easy for whoever ends up with that job someday.
I’m amazed by the amount of odds and ends we’ve accumulated since the first time we downsized. I’m finally forced to give up at least four of my six water pitchers, 20 of my 60 coffee cups, a rice cooker, and at least one of my casserole dishes. I should just give them all away since I rarely cook anyway!
I’ve started a garage sale pile on my kitchen table. Each time I pass by the clutter I’m reminded of my 33rd birthday when my friends gave me that teapot, or the trip to Spain when I bought those plates. We hope to get rid of old furniture like our first headboard that cost a walloping $100.00 in 1982, and an (almost) antique couch and chair that adorned Louie and Lorraine’s living-room back in the 1940’s.
I’m counting on the fact that my junk will be the deal of the century for somebody passing by my garage in a few weeks.
Some things I just can’t part with. Little glass storage dishes and a crockery bowl that belonged to my grandma, for instance, will mean nothing to anyone someday. But, today they remind me of her. It’s odd how memories are tied to things, isn’t it?
One thing is certain, none of it’s going with me. And, as of this weekend, less of it’s being left behind.