There is a story about a man who had been a lifetime collector of books. He had hundreds of them. One day he decided to reduce his collection to one hundred books so his family would know those were the important ones, the ones that meant something. And then he reduced it again to ten.

My recent days have been spent sifting and sorting, disposing, discarding, and dispensing. So much stuff. Some valuables, some treasures, lots of mementos, but to be honest, a lot of stuff. 

I have two unopened bottles of Coca-Cola, most likely from about 1970, probably from the soda foundation at my husband’s parent’s dairy. It’s the real thing.

Whenever there was a choice to either discard or keep something — anything — my husband opted to keep. We had the space for it, so why not? The funny thing is, I remember when we bought this house, I looked at the enormous pile of stuff the previous owners had stored in the basement — “Oh, we’ll never let it get like this!”

Ha. 

It happened so gradually, the corners crept in ever so softly, quietly, seemingly harmless.

My husband had offered a few years ago to sort through his things so I would not have to do it. I envisioned an emotionally charged sentimental sojourn and said no. I did not want to watch him ‘death clean’. Now, ‘Hindsight’…that smug know-it-all… tells me I should have said yes. And not because of the amount of work it has been to clear the basement and garage, but because I robbed him of the opportunity to revisit cherished belongings and to make his own choices to gift, to discard, to keep.

Although, I’m not sure he would have particularly enjoyed that process. He liked knowing where all his things were. In spite of the volume of stuff encroaching on the basement and garage, it was all carefully stowed, wrapped in old towels, arranged even. If he liked something, he liked to keep it. And if asked, he could put his hand on it even if it had been stored away for over a decade.

So it has fallen to me to make the decisions. I am keeping some things that may not mean anywhere near as much to me as they did to him, but I will keep them because they were special. Like his Sergeant Joe Friday’s pistol from grade one.

Through Facebook connections, I’ve found someone who collects antique projectors to take the circa 1930-s piece we had. What’s the point of it sitting in a closet when someone else can appreciate and love it? Through Kijiji I found someone who said having my husband’s 1970’s Bell motorcycle helmet would be a joy to own. Really? He used the word ‘joy’ so I am willing to take on the bother of shipping it.

Best of all, I’ve found a perfect home for our Advent speakers and turntable. Remember how large speakers used to be? But, oh, they sounded good. I am hoping they still sound terrific for the new owner — a high school buddy who was into music then, and still into music now.

And, I’ve given away as much as I could foist upon unsuspecting visitors who happened to stop by. Considered yourself warned.

I will be living lighter, less cluttered, less stuff. 

Bitter, bittersweet.

Stay safe everyone.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger.  Facebook or Twitter.