Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...Ah, if it were only that simple. My favorite things encompass far more than Maria von Trapp's list. Though they may not be as hard to store as those cream-colored ponies, my collections do seem to take up an inordinate amount of space. I have nightmares about the aftermath of my passing: estate sale agents pawing through closet after closet, consigning box after box to a yawning dumpster, wondering all the while why on earth anyone would have saved this stuff.
So this week, I begin yet again. I have located an Upcycle store. What a marvelous idea. They collect all the dribs and drabs and pieces of projects and project materials (corks! fabric! scrapbook paper! CD cases!): all those things that might come in handy in that never-to-be-realized "someday" we all know is just around the corner--and put them in one place and make them available to artists of all kinds. I have come to the realization finally that when 'someday' comes, I won't be able to find whatever it was I'd saved. So..upcycle. Somewhere, someone is looking for that exact something that I have squirreled away and would be delighted to find it cheap. Some grandma will have her grandchildren visiting and will need craft supplies. Some teacher (oh, yes, the teachers) who are buying supplies out of their own (too-slim) pockets may find an inspiration that doesn't cost too much. I must have a store-ful of this stuff, all on my own. It is going, going, almost gone. And I can't feel bad about letting it go because all this stuff will be used by someone.
Books. Books. Books. How-to books. Mysteries. Thought-provoking books. Poetry books. Books I should read. Books I want to read (and they are not exactly the same..) Cookbooks. Travel books. If I started reading now, I MIGHT work my way through a fraction of them, but, more likely, I will have bought more books along the way and will still have an overflowing nightstand, coffee table, shelf. Set aside the reference books and the one-of-a-kinds (my autographed Ogden Nash, my inscribed Billy Collins, my Laurie King signed copy, the possibly-belonged-to-Thomas-Jefferson (but probably not) autobiography of Benjamin Franklin in its original French) and then...make someone else happy with a deluge of Dick Francis and Margaret Maron and Bill Bryson and all the other treasures I've collected.
Pick a cookbook each week and make three recipes from it to justify its long-ago purchase. If nothing else, I'll get some new menus out of the attempt. Throw away all the scraps of paper and magazines I've saved. When my mother-in-law died, did I save her clippings? No. What I saved were her hand-copied cards that referenced names I knew or dishes I remembered.
Clothes. Nope. I don't even want to go there right now. But I am entertaining the idea of a bag swap. I collect purses and tote-bags and computer bags in the hope of finding the perfect one, Which I do on a regular basis--at least until the next version of perfection makes its appearance. Is there anyone else out there like that? Maybe my 'imperfect' bags are your 'more-nearly-perfect' ones. Maybe we should throw them all in a pile and find out. I volunteer my living room floor.
I am also not above reading about organization (though I have discarded many a book on the subject..) My latest read has been "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up"--or something like that. While I don't advocate talking to my socks (she does...) or clothing, I DO like one aspect of her approach. She rationalizes (oh, we must be sisters) discarding things by reflecting upon the pleasure she received from buying or receiving the item, and saying that that is enough, that the thing has served its purpose by providing that moment of pleasure. You go, girl. Shopping is its own reward? Maybe it is. Maybe it is. If only getting rid of stuff offered the same irresistibility.
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