Shedding Stuff

     Shedding all but the very essential material possessions has been enlightening, rewarding, guilt-inducing and cathartic. I threw away loads and loads of stuff. Throwing away is hard; I was raised to be frugal--my mother ironed and reused Christmas wrapping paper, some of it year after year. I established the rule that if it hadn’t been looked at or used in years or could be replaced for a few bucks, it was okay to throw away.
     Having the luxury of leisure and time, I was able to place some of my most valuable possessions. A favorite framed photograph found a home with a close friend who had admired it every time she visited. A cookie jar, an exact match to one I had broken as a child, was returned for safe keeping to the friend who had tracked it down. My dad’s World War II army uniform is now at the Arizona Military Museum.
     I sold things. I held three garage sales, until I figured out that I was netting less than minimum wage for hours of very hard work. My mechanic is selling the motorcycle, leather jacket and chaps. I recycled old computer components, nonfunctional televisions, battered metal shelving and scrap plumbing fixtures.
     I used some possessions to benefit others. Small kitchen appliances were sold at a garage sale to benefit a friend whose son is battling cancer. Loads of clothes and household stuff went to GoodWill; books to a charity book drive. The 1993 Buick, given to me by a generous neighbor when I broke my leg, will go to a man who suffered a broken leg after getting hit by a car while walking to his job.
     The hardest possessions to shed have been the ones that represented unfulfilled plans. I threw away the chair frames that I was going to learn how to reupholster. I sold the sewing machine on which I had learned to do little more than semi-straight lines of stitching. The Spanish instructional materials were donated.
     And now there is the house. I’ve been here 16 years. There are three beloved dogs and two cherished cats buried in the back yard. The grape vines produced a few small clusters of grapes for the first time this year. This is where I hoped and celebrated and grieved, and watched a marriage crumble. I may leave the house behind, but I will always have the memories.