WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Something got hold of me the other day and I decided to clean out those closets and rid those drawers of the stuff that has accumulated over the past 35 years when actually throwing something away was tantamount in my mind to heresy.    And let me just preface this revelation by stating that I have an 8 room house that once was home to 4 kids whose “treasures” over the years I found difficulty in parting with.    Shoved into more closets and drawers than I care to count, is “stuff”.  Stuff that has outworn its use, stuff that is no longer in fashion, stuff that at times has lost identification when held up to the light.  But stuff that was able to be crammed, jammed, shoved into any available opening at hand.  Thus the need to “clean”.

Everyone has one drawer, usually found in the kitchen, that is a catchall for everything.  What resides into that convenience has no rhyme or reason.   Things are jumbled together that no longer serve a purpose but at the time were considered just too good to throw out.  Take the thing that I found that was shaped like a knitting needle but which at one time was the instrument used to extract pimento’s from olives.    This must have been bought at one time when we were on a martini diet since I have little knowledge of ever having actually used it.   What was I thinking when I made that purchase oh so many moons ago?

Alongside that bit of whimsy were calendars that had “dates” filled in, perhaps with the intention of somehow creating a “book of us” when time could be found.  Let’s just say that time was never found nor were these calendars ever thought of once they were routinely shoved into the “burial ground” of that mismatched drawer.  Batteries, string, a ruler, pinking shears, a plastic spatula, matchbooks, buttons, report cards, coupons, a wedding picture of a couple of whom I have no recollection, pens, pencils, pieces of a game, playing cards, bottle tops, green stamps, a ladle, black thread, handwritten recipes, mismatched spoons, and a trading card bearing the face of Rico Petrocelli.

The closets were no better in offering crap.   Coats and jackets that no longer fit and were seriously out of fashion.   Sweaters that had lost shape.   Shoes, handbags, dresses, blouses, scarves, and belts that were possibly the height of fashion 20 years ago and would only fit a size 7 if that were still the case had I chosen to go vintage.   Unfortunately, nothing in those piles were worth donation.    As for the size 7?   Don’t even ask.

Why do we hold onto this stuff that accumulates and seems to multiply as the years go by?  Junk that would be passed over in a tag sale.   Crapola that fills the closets and drawers that has lost all meaning and significance simply because at one time the words “you never know” took root and became embedded in the brain as a symbol of waste if rightfully discarded.

Suffice to say I have more room in the closets and drawers.   Enough room to begin filling them up once again!   But wait, I have yet to start on the cellar.   That should be a day at the beach since I noticed the other day a box of junk that is in serious need of removal.   But then again, one never knows.