Eliminating “Stuff”

My husband and I still occupy the house where we raised our children. It’s rather larger than we need these days but the location is ideal and we renovated it a few years ago to suit our needs as we grow older. The two bedrooms upstairs can be shut off and not heated or cooled when not in use, but they’re handy to have when the kids and grandkids visit.

It’s also far too handy to use those two rooms to store extra things. I hate clutter but I do have pack-rat tendencies, so I need a place to store all that extra stuff, out of sight, but handy should I find a use for the stored items.

I’m getting older and eventually I’ll have to down-size. I’m also aware of feeling burdened by maintaining everything. I hate to think that I’ll be leaving my kids a huge mess of stuff to deal with when I’m gone. It’s time to clean out pretty drastically. I have too much “stuff.” Way too much. Much more than I need, so a lot of things need to go.

I’m trying to start with books. I’ve got a library in those two upstairs room, and the truth is I’ll never read most of them again. Heck, I don’t even read paper books much at all anymore because my eyesight is poor. My Kindle lets me turn any book into a large-print edition, making it much easier to read. So why is it so darn hard to part with all those books, the fruit of some forty years of collecting them?

Then there are all those dishes, glasses, and serving pieces. Many of them belonged to my grandmother, mother, and mother-in-law. I’m hoping to pass them onto my own two daughters and daughter-in-law some day.  But will they even want them? They have a lot of things of their own already.

Clothing is another thing I struggle to cut back on. I have so many things that I’ve worn only a few times. I keep a lot of them mostly because I’m insecure about my fashion sense and I’m sure that as soon as I get rid of something it will turn out to be the perfect thing to wear to some special event.

I’ve tried several tricks to make myself get rid of things. I’ve used that system where I ask myself about how much joy an object gives me. Unfortunately I can find the joy in way too many things. I tried the clothing thing where you turn the hangers around and get rid of anything you haven’t turned around in the season. The only things I didn’t turn around were a couple of shirts I’m sure I’ll need at some time in the future.

A few things have helped. I’ve started a routine of making myself get rid of one piece of clothing for each new one I get so at least I don’t increase the problem. I’m also in the habit of getting rid of one thing a day. Obviously that’s the slow way to eliminate stuff, so I’m still working on how to beat my inner packrat and clear out bunches of stuff.

Another technique I can sometimes make work is to take a class of items – say a shelf of books or a stack of pads and notebooks – and tell myself I have to get rid of at least of half of this batch. Sometimes that works. Sometimes not so much.

I’m open to listening to any and all ideas for eliminating stuff - especially when you’re someone with packrat instincts.

The Point, A Place in the Heart

by Fran McNabb

 

If you’re not from my corner of the world, “The Point” probably brings up all sorts of meanings. For me and for the tightly knit group of people who grew up on the small peninsula of the Gulf Coast, the name conjures up memories from the past.

The Point, or Point Cadet as some called it, was home to several ethnic groups—Cajuns, Yugoslavians and Italians—most of whom made their living from the seafood industry. Over the years these different groups shared their traditions and food and seemed to meld together while still keeping their own traditions alive. We grew up enjoying foods from all the cultures, such as baccali, jambalaya and gumbo.

Most families had someone who worked as shrimpers or factory workers or owned neighborhood stores and cafes that catered to those families. My mother and father both were seafood workers. Dad had a shrimp boat and Mom worked on and off throughout her life in the factories. My brother and I even tried our hand at part-time work, but quickly learned that life wasn’t for us.

I love to share memories with people who grew up in that part of the world. The other day something reminded me of the “aroma” of the huge oyster shell piles on the beach. I know most people wouldn’t think of that as a good memory, but I loved it. (Thanks to Tiffany Duval for the picture. The picture comes from a time prior to my life, but the piles remained into the late 20^th C.)

I love riding down the beach today thinking about what we did as children there. I smile at the memory of our moms in their big sunhats following us children who rolled truck inner tubes through the streets to get to the beach. What fun!

Most of us lived in the same neighborhood and played with the same friends for our entire school years. It was a comfortable life—not rich in material things—but comfortable because of the familiarity of the people around us, the slow rhythms of life, and the traditions that we expected. I look at our mobile society today and realize so many young people will grow up without that experience.

 The Point was nearly wiped out by Hurricane Katrina, but though the landmarks might be gone, nothing can take those memories from our hearts.

 Everywhere in the world has its own place like “The Point.” Where is yours? Is it in upper New York, in the desserts of the southwest, or in a small town in the Midwest? No matter where the region is, I’m sure you have special memories from your past that are distinctively yours. If you do, you can count yourself as one of the lucky ones.

 

Fran McNabb grew up on “The Point.” Today she and her husband live on a quiet bayou harbor, a short distance from the area. Several of her light romances are set along the beaches and island that she and her family still enjoy. She loves to hear from readers at mcnabbf@bellsouth.net or through her website at www.FranMcNabb.com