(This post is dedicated to the memory of my mom Grace. I think of her often, particularly in January, her birth month as well as a time she liked to roll up her sleeves and get organized. Happy 87th in heaven, G! Hope you enjoyed some cut-throat Euchre with the angels. And that you won, of course.)
Dear Grace (NOTE: We girls called her that, or G, with no disrespect, truly):
You’re messing with me again. You know you are. You’re probably feeling a cross between irritation and glee about it, too.
Call it the January conundrum. The New Year inspires me to tidy up, to get rid of the old to make room for the new. You used to do this, too, I remember. I need to tell you something, though, G. This annual tidying-up business isn’t what it used to be.
For starters, today’s home décor style leans more than ever towards minimalism. You know how you liked to warm up your walls with lots of pictures? Or how you relished collecting and displaying ornate little frames, antique dolls, and vintage shoes? (Yes, I mean dolls like Annabelle, pictured below, which you picked up heaven-knows-where and is now perched on my computer desk.)
Well, G, minimalists are sending a loud message: “We are a culture drowning in our possessions.” They’re encouraging folks to get a grip on all that collecting. Their mantra is that owning fewer possessions, owning with intention, is freeing.
A couple years ago I became familiar with a minimalist named Marie Kondo. Let me tell you about Marie, because I think there are quite a few things you’d like about her. I know you’d admire her petite, pretty image. You likely would have embraced some of her “KonMari” methods, including her kick-butt way of folding and storing clothes. No one knows better than I how much you loved to feel organized.
Yet here’s where it gets complicated, G. Marie is a minimalist. KonMari provides a surefire system for paring away items that cause clutter. If they “spark joy,” keep them. If not, get rid of them. In my dreams I can see Marie gently lifting an antique pair of spectacles off the entry table, placing them in your hands and asking (in Japanese, of course), “Do these spark joy?” And I can envision your likely reply (in English, of course), “You bet your ass they do!”
Now, G, I know you always said you hate clutter. I believe you believed that was true. But you can’t deny you were a collector. You had a mad passion for certain collectibles, which, unfortunately, you passed along to me. Why is this unfortunate, you ask? Because I now have an abundance of collectibles and antiques to pass along to my adult kiddos. And guess what? They don’t want ‘em. With the exception of Grandma Pearl’s sewing machine (on which both girls have called dibs) and the baby grand piano (which Daniel might want, if he doesn’t nix it for something newer and shinier and smaller), the other items aren’t in high demand.
Personally, I’m okay with the kids paring down. I agree that we, as a culture, have way too much stuff. But G, when I say that other items of yours aren’t in high demand, I’m being polite. The real deal is this:
Nobody gives a shilling for or about antiques anymore.
Blasphemous, I know. As a kid, I remember you frequently bringing home new furniture or art (which was actually old, of course, but new to us). When you grew tired of one of your collectibles, you’d sell it back to the dealer and bring home something in its place. Guess what? Today antiques are passé. Mid-century is all the rage. Or Scandinavian minimalism. I kid you not. If your space isn’t spare, it’s square.
Sigh.
But I get it, G. Tastes and trends change. I’m trying to respect that and break the habit of keeping things just because they were gifts or they elicit memories or they’re still practical and we have the space. Part of my battle I chalk up to The Endowment Effect: the tendency to overvalue things we own, which in turn explains why we are so unwilling to give them up. The other part of the battle is more difficult. The other part is knowing how much certain items truly sparked your joy.
How can I get rid of items like your oil painting of the old man and his pipe? You told me it was the first piece of art you ever bought, and it filled you with tremendous joy. When you were downsizing, you asked me to be sure it remained in the family, and it now has a spot in my keeping room. But where will it go next? I wonder about so many items passed along from you (like that painting, or the side table and the nautical lamp, or the zither and the sketch of me from a high school trip to Paris, all pictured below). Will they all end up in the landfill?
The pragmatic part of me asks, what does it matter? Isn’t everything eventually just ashes to ashes, dust to dust? Yet my struggle continues, especially when it comes to figuring out what to do with all your pictures and photo albums. (Yes, G, I still have your albums, plus other old pictures begging to be archived. The albums still bring me joy. Bulky joy. But joy.)
So, G, I hope you can understand that some of your stuff must, well, go. Here are my thoughts on that. I’ll continue collecting memories and experiences we shared. Note: that might mean saving a photo of something rather than saving the item itself. For instance, I now have photos of Annabelle and the items in the keeping room, which I might opt to save in lieu of the real deal. If I choose, I can store these memories in photo albums along with notes like the one below, which reflects on a mid-1990s family sleigh ride in Michigan. Yes, it was below freezing, and, hellz, yes, you always managed to snort when you laughed, which totally tickled the kids and got a mention in the note. These are memories and experiences I want to save. These are what I want to share.
Sure, there’s still the issue of how and where all these photos are being stored. The old-style bulky photo albums (pictured below) are magnets for dust in and of themselves. Then again, in this digital age, bulky albums can be converted into sleeker packages, like on-line albums or space-saving photo books (also pictured below).
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. A whole new year awaits, filled with more firsthand memories and experiences I’ll want to collect. How and where will I store them all? Let’s just say that’s part of the January conundrum. January 2021.
Miss you, G. Cheers, all! J
