My Declaration on Stuff

Stuff demands a personal constitution: Beliefs about oneself and how you relate to stuff.  I am… one might state… frugal, trendy, prepared, charitable, fiscally responsible, sentimental, pragmatic, curious, free spending, creative, innovative, independent . Declarations and actions come from a constitution. The words that show the behavior from that constitution.  You can count on me to… recycle, reuse, donate to Salvation Army, sell on e-Bay, scour garage sales, buy the newest styles or buy wholesale or make it myself, or hand-it down, or maybe for some people, hoard, for example.

No matter the length of a declaration on stuff,  the fervor in which it is lived, nor the sentiments attached, the first words once one decides to move and begins to plan the packing, What the hell was I thinking!!!

I walked into my friend’s condo a couple days after it was staged for showings. The heart was gone.  No music greeted me - the CDs were stashed. The buffet, normally an altar of keepsakes… cleared except three candlesticks matchy-matchy. Plants creating an elegant jungle, removed like deforesting in the Amazon.

Moving requires careful inventory of each and every room, and closets from top shelf to floor. It necessitates the infliction of memories whether wanted or not. Going through a drawer and finding a button from a coat long donated, but snapped off in a rush to catch a child from a fall from a bike. Or finding a sweater you got in 1991, made of the softest lamb leather and warm alpaca wool that matched your hair with divine precision that was a little snug at the time it was given to you as a hand me down… and never got less snug. Old receipts, tax returns, catalogs, and birthday cards… they are always in consideration for keep or toss. It just isn’t an easy decision.

My friend lived in her place for twenty-two years. She’s sentimental, loving, artsy and spiritual. I haven’t stayed in the same home for more than five since the nineties. Watching her go through this process reminds me of snapping the top off a dandelion. She’s getting rid of twenty-two years of stuff in one pop. My multiple moves were more like a flower girl distributing petals down the aisle. Step-toss a couple, step toss a couple more. Reaching the rows close to the altar, the basket is pretty much empty... but it's a long walk down the aisle. My moves have each marked a new stage in my life, ending a relationship, closing a business, empty nesting.  Obviously, they coincide with advancing age. (Funny how that phrase while it could be used for five year olds turning six, more often is used for fifty nine year olds turning sixty.) I'm baffled at this point of my life.  I'm not retiring. I am working on what and where to do next... an advancement in career, a slow down in work, a left turn onto a new path that I’ve taken a couple steps on, but haven’t had the nerve to explore beyond the picker bushes of doubts. What clothes, or books, parent’s stuff, journals, vases, silver ware, jewelry, furniture do I need, will I care about? Will some day I say, where is that… transistor radio?

Saturday, I took a bike ride with my brother who pulled a red transistor from his pocket to listen to the end of the Notre Dame game while we pedaled. At once I thought it quaint and also cool, from a re-use perspective. I donated my turquoise transistor from the sixties after seeing it in a drawer next to a Walkman that I later donated when my tapes turned to CDs, which of course, morphed into MP3 files. The sweat shirt he wore when I pulled up with my bike rack had so many little tears and holes that I asked if he’d been shot by a bee-bee gun. He said, “Remember this? I wore it when I delivered mail during college breaks... um, forty five years ago.” A forty-five year old sweatshirt. Wow! I admire that. I gave up sweatshirts for fleece when my twenty-seven year old was in seventh grade and did a science project comparing heat retention with wool, fleece and cotton. Fleece proved best. I bought fleece. I am not sure why I didn't keep the wool and cotton. My brother's transistor worked. It fit into his pocket. The sound was good and Notre Dame won… a happy turn around in the time of our ride. In my moves, I’ve gotten rid of so many items that still worked, still had application, still fit.  A forty-five year old sweatshirt. That is a commitment. And, I might add, clearly a reason he is in much better financial shape than me.

In my newest home of less than a year, the fixtures, counter tops, cabinetry, floors and colors are current.  A few years from now, the granite will be obsolete... the light wood floors scuffed… the faucets and sinks will no longer be cool. If I don’t update them, I used to think, people will come into my home and make opinions about me. They will suppose lack of funds, lack of taste or too old to be cool.

Last night, at a reception following a concert, my friend Lanni and I shared a table with a woman who was to move to a new home later this week. Her hands when we shook reminded me of my sixth grade catcher's mitt still sitting in a box in the garage, dried and cracked. (Wish I knew why I would save that over my transistor.) She sorted and pared down from a large home in a tony neighborhood to move to a senior living facility with an aging in place feature. She divvied items among her grown children and grand children. We talked a bit more, I we learned that the woman who was about to move is sixty-eight... and a widow of eight months… and has stage four breast cancer. Chemotherapy -the explanation for the dryness of her skin. If that was me... Moving in four days to a place without my spouse, knowing it is likely my last home… what would I pack? How would that inform my declaration of stuff?

I know it’s a work in progress, here it goes.... I am loving, curious, creative, pragmatic, active, fun, and generous. You can count on me to give away what I don’t need, keep stuff that allows me to teach my son about the people who came before, or help me be creative, or interact with people or learn and understand and be involved in current events. Commitments to my constitution don’t require latest clothes, new linens or a fancy car. And, I don’t need to keep my iPod when it gets too rickety or a pair of glasses if my prescription needs to be changed… I have complete choice. We the people like our stuff and we will let it go when the time is right.

And you?