Decluttering: The Mini-Series

I am aghast to see that it is now October and that I have been retired for six months!

Yes time flies when one is working (and particularly always working with dates, as I used to) but now the hours scream by and literally, it is always 4 o’clock and by then there’s not enough of the day left to really be starting a new task when you could be tucked into the last bit of weak sunshine on the stairs with a book (and wine) or sitting outside (now in a cardigan) surprising an entirely different avian crowd than there is in the morning!

(In my previous life, I would be sorting laundry, washing the floor as I talked on the phone to someone and maybe doing some prep towards the next day’s dinner).

And this was after I got home from work!

Anyway, The General and I did decide to embark upon a decluttering of the basement this week and have already done a few runs to the thrift shop which feels amazingly freeing, just as Marie Kondo promised. We have been watching her show on Netflix as a kind of warm-up inspiration before we go downstairs although I have had to explain to The General that this does not count as “working on the basement” especially as a snack break was included.

I myself have often been called upon to help with decluttering from my very best friend (I gathered estimates for removing her piano once and for all after over 2 decades of storage) to a beloved supervisor who just needed some gentle encouragement to The General himself (ongoingly) who has vastly improved his propensity toward “collecting” and in fact, intends very soon to read that deeply yellowed, pre-leg warmer Jane Fonda article he has been saving for some time.

(Spoiler Alert: Jane will not be impressed with Vietnam).

I can be ruthless with my own clutter – and I absolutely have some – but the only pieces that give me any kind of pause are letters. A letter or card can stop me in my tracks, depending on who it is from of course. The sight of my mother’s handwriting, slanting and slowly written (she had a deep loathing for correspondence of any kind) gives me actual chest pain and I replace it in the envelope quickly. Despite Marie Kondo’s rule about “does this spark joy?” I cannot throw my mother’s letters away, perhaps not ever. All of my Starter Husband’s letters though have now been shredded, mostly as a safety measure to myself since even seeing his name still causes a modicum of dread/sorrow/anxiety and soul-searching which never ends well.

When I was helping The General move from his own house, he was much more suspicious in those early days and did not trust me to not throw his things away with the same kind of abandon that I used for myself. But I would never ‘toss things out as he slept’ (this was actually suggested to me by well meaning friends!) and I love this sentimental side to his nature. Plus? These are not MY things. But I am so proud (and relieved) that he is starting to think differently about it.

That said, when we came to his kitchen packing some years ago, I saw that there were a number of spice jars bearing a variety of different labels (yet all the same identical shade of powdered death) and The General was hovering around saying things like “I’m sure the Parsley is still fine” and “I used that last week, you just need to use more of it.” I doubtfully twirled the cap off to see how it smelled and suddenly something that been crouching in there with its wings wrapped around its head, escaped and took off flapping towards the open window like a pterodactyl. I screamed involuntarily and when The General had regained his composure he said weakly “Yeah, maybe get rid of that one.”

Our Purge continues.

2 comments