MUSINGS ON ESTATE SALES

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January 6, 2016

KEEPING KEEPSAKES CAN CREATE CLARITY CHAOS

So, this year Santa decided to bring me a brand new shiny hip, although I'm not sure if that's because I was good or bad. Being laid up with nothing to do but give friends and family orders from bedside wasn’t endearing me to anyone and I realized I had to turn my attention away from poor little me and do something constructive while limited in movement. Rightfully, I waited until the pain meds kicked in figuring it would put me in a more agreeable, hopefully creative temperament.

A potential client called asking about downsizing, which prompted me to look around my room and reflect on the need to do the same. Since I do this for a living, I automatically assumed I would never collect “clutter” because my clutter is nice clutter while someone else’s clutter is usually unnecessary stuff. Nevertheless, I agreed (with myself) there were some areas for improvement. I decided to skip the obvious like phone, TV, tissues, clock, trash can, etc. and go for the really tough stuff.

My Pegasus sculpture. It's not that big, has an emotional connection for me and although it really belongs in my office there’s no room for it. I'll think about it. Next is my small collection of art glass that while not valuable, I really like. Ideally, it belongs in the living room but there's nowhere to put it. OK, I'll come back to it, thinking it might work in the bathroom if I get rid of some stuff in there. Framed family photos and those of my late dog. Maybe I can reduce them and get some multi-screen frames, saving a few inches on my night table. The unusual, unfinished vase the artist in Tubac was going to trash but I liked so he gave it to me 20 years ago (I don't remember his name but it was a lovely gesture I couldn't turn down). The little antique porcelain tray that belonged to some deceased relative I never met (would I have even liked them?) Leaning over to open a bedside drawer I found a carved toy I bought in Hong Kong in 1981 and thought friends would ooh and ah over it but they never did. And why was it in a bedroom drawer?  And so on around the room my eyes went, considering the contribution to my life each object had made. Which, in reality wasn't much in the brief time beyond which I had gotten them. And which I hardly noticed on a daily basis.

This was harder than I thought and it was only one room. I've always been sympathetic to my clients’ distress having to make those choices, but it was their tchotchkes and sentimental refuse and not mine. Could I part with the bibelots and baubles of itty bitty parts of my life to make room for new memorabilia, i.e.clutter? Wonderful things found at estate sales and garage sales could have a new life living with me, reclaimed, restored and re-appreciated.

I have a new-found respect for those with the fortitude to let the no longer useful/helpful/touchy-feely disappear into the unseen collection of memory minutiae because in reality, at some point, chances are we won't remember having had them.

Then the meds started wearing off. 

 

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