Stuff
My sister is currently in the process of selling her lake house. Her boys are off to college and the summer house has served its purpose. Letting the cottage go has not been the challenge, it is the parting with the furniture, the wall decor and the items that filled the shelves that is proving to be painful. It is difficult to part with the paintings our mutual sister created to match the bedspreads, the lamp from my grandmother and the nautical things that were collected and hung over the past 15 years. Each item had been hand selected by her with care and attention to detail to make each room feel inviting and guests feel welcome. My sister was emotionally attached to each memento. It broke her heart to see her things on the front lawn to be picked over by strangers.
When I was home for Christmas this past year, my mother asked me to help her sort out the basement. My girls and I had met from different states to celebrate the holidays and this is not exactly how I wanted to spend my time. We are rarely all in one place at the same time and my mom wanted to go through her old ornaments with the family. My daughters were so kind to their grandmother. They helped her down the stairs, set her up in a rocking chair and brought her boxes to dig through. Each ornament held a special memory for her. She told the story of the origin of each one. Many she had collected on trips with her sister and her mother who are both deceased. I thought of all the parties we had in our house when I was a child, how beautiful our family tree was and how my mother spent hours making sure the tinsel hung just right. My mother uncovered a few hammered brass leaves that had come from Germany with my great-grandmother. She gifted them to my youngest. One ornament I had to save. It reminded me of one of our most comical episodes as teenagers. One of my sisters tipped over the whole Christmas tree within inches of my mother sleeping on the sofa waiting up for us after a school dance. We were hysterical laughing as we righted the tree and attempted to hang everything just the way she had done without waking her up. The only collateral damage was my mother’s favorite ornament. Pinocchio. He had lost a leg and broken his nose. We hung him in the back and she did not notice until she was putting everything away after the holidays. It wasn’t until we girls were in our 30’s that the true story of how Pinocchio lost a leg came out. We laughed with our mom until we cried.
My girls heard the story and smiled. It was understandable. You had to be there to place the emotion to the object. To them it was just something to be recycled. My mom had been saving these ornaments hoping the girls would value them the way she did. They were her memories, her stories. The same is for my sister’s belongings. They are her stories, her attachments. A stranger or even your own children will not share your emotions about your stuff.
A friend of mine has been doing everything he can to keep his farm together for his children. He loves the lifestyle. Only time will tell if his kids will want the farm. When they are old enough, they may choose to sell the land and use the cash to pursue their own dreams. They do not share his memories or attachments.
I look around my cabin. My things have been collected over the past 50 years. They are an assortment of memorabilia from my adventures and my childhood; a jewelry box from Hong Kong, baskets and carved animals from Africa, a Belleek teapot from Ireland, cloisonné eggs and a beaded doll from China and ceramic chickens from Spain. In my living room, a century old cherry blanket chest doubles as a coffee table and storage for my jeans. In the past, it has been a tack trunk in a horse barn and then my daughter’s toy box. A blue gas type lamp, that lights my dining room table, was the first home furnishing I bought when I was 19 years old. The stage coach trunk, my father and I found full of antique books when I was a child. It holds even more treasures. In it is a quilt I made when I was about 10 years old. The fabric is from scraps of the clothes my mother sewed for us. There are patches from my sister’s purple skirt, my brother’s baby pillow, the tiger striped dress I made and my father’s blue jeans - complete with paint splatters. When I created this quilt I dreamed of having a house of my own someday and it would be placed on my bed to keep me warm and cozy. My first diary and my first Barbie doll are in that trunk, too. I rocked both of my newborn baby girls to sleep each night in the Boston rocker. My grandmother’s silver tea set is still packed as is the fine china. My china was only unpacked once in the last 34 years. When I was married, china symbolized the Norman Rockwell family life. The pattern selection was one of the most important components of planning our new home. The oriental carpet and the wallpaper were chosen to match the china. My girls are much more practical; I don’t see them using a plate that can’t contact the dishwasher.
I remember when my oldest and I used to go camping with the horses in the Adirondacks. One day she said, “This is everything anyone would ever need – a horse, a dog, good food, a tent and a toasty sleeping bag.” She was more accurate than she knew. I have everything I require. I have a warm bed, a roof over my head, good food, a horse and a dog. Consumerism runs our economy but how much is enough? People fill their attics, their garages, the basements and then move on to fill offsite storage units. I think each time we make a new purchase we should consider who will and how it will be disposed of when we are gone. If we think, “oh my children will love this thing.” Think again.
There will be a day when my daughters will wonder what the heck to do with my stuff. The value of these things is the emotions I have attached to them. They are my stories, my memories. The dollar value is negligible. When I move again, how many of these things will I sort through and decide to give away? My stuff does not define me. If my things should disappear tomorrow, I will still have the memories. I am still me. As long as my things serve me, I will be grateful and thank my Creator for having had the pleasure of using them. When it is time for me to let them go, I hope the next owner enjoys them as much as I have. There is no point in holding onto things simply for the sake of maintaining possession. That is a scarcity consciousness that I do not choose to maintain.
I am grateful for what I have. I am grateful for what I will let go of in order to make space for something new. The world is an abundant place and there are always unique items to cherish and appreciate. I am doing my children a favor by carefully considering what I take into my space. I can express my love for them in so many more ways than leaving them stuff. My choice is to spend time with my girls, create memories and allow them to choose the items that will keep the stories alive in their hearts. I demonstrate my love and kindness by simplifying rather than making my life more complex.
Would it be farfetched to offer a service to a loved one for their holiday gift instead of one more item to be saved? How about a dinner, a massage, an evening of dancing or a day of sightseeing? Could you carve out time to make memories instead of adding to the stack of possessions? Turn off the radio, stop the t.v., get past the ads in the newspaper that say, “Buy! Buy! Buy!” After you drop the clothes off at the thrift shop that you haven’t worn for the past 3 years, let’s take a hike and make a day of it. You’ll feel lighter knowing that your things are going to a good cause. Your kids will thank you.
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