I am throwing away my life by the heap.
Bags and bags of trinkets, tchotchkes and knick knacks are loaded in the trash bins, pieces of my life I haven't wanted, needed or used in quite some time.
There was the half-used roll of athletic tape I used to create a sort of strapless bra - the undergarment of choice when I wore my blue saran wrap tube top to parties years ago.
I found, tucked away in a drawer, an old key to the first Saab I ever drove. It was a beauty - we called it Black Beauty, in fact. A 1986, two-door, 900 S, complete with a sunroof and a Blaupunkt sound system.
My sister and I shared it. We loved it.
I also unearthed a tiny, heart shaped, handcrafted box. Painted in colors of cream, rust and forest green, it had flowers and "I love you" painted on its top. Highly ironic, considering said box was a gift from my aunt, with whom we haven't spoken in years.
You should really only say I love you if you mean it.
Just yesterday, I discovered a pillowcase with a hand painted Holly Hobby on it, sandwiched between a mess of old towels and Marimekko sheets. Without giving it a thought, my hands grabbed the pillowcase and clutched it to my chest, the way a child would cling to a security blanket. A remnant of my own childhood, the pillowcase will live another day in my mess of possessions, while the rest of the linens got tossed in the Goodwill pile.
I have a hard time shedding remnants from my past. I come by this honestly.
Both of my parents are pack rats. They downsized to a smaller home when they moved back to Cincinnati, and I'm sure they had to make some tough decisions about what was crap and what was quality before they packed up the moving truck.
Their basement is chock full of boxes of stuff that likely won't be unearthed until I have to move them to a nursing home in 20 years. The kick is, my dad says he's discovered moving boxes in the storage area - full of things like empty shoe boxes.
He is mystified why my mom allowed them to make the trip.
Part of the impetus for my getting rid of so. much. junk: I am moving to the 4th and 5th floor of an old building in Over-the-Rhine. My brain (and honestly, my legs) shutters at the thought of lugging up so much junk.
So, Nana C's old blender (we're talking, from the 60s) and Mom's old crock pot (we're talking, from the 70s) have moved on to greener landfills. The blender was a smoothie away from burning out and, well, the crock pot was tripping the light fantastic in a practically day-glo shade that's unbecoming for a modern kitchen.
New is sleeker, affordable and more convenient.
But then, that brings me to my original point. I have way too much junk.
Perhaps it's time to adopt my friend's policy of one in - one out.
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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