My hubby and I spent the day cleaning out the attic. It was an arduous task, punctuated by the added insult of having to haul every yard-sale-worthy item down three flights of stairs and into the garage. With every dang-blasted step I mumbled, “This will firm up my butt,” over and over like a religious mantra. So far no buns of steel. Maybe they just need time to set.
In spite of all the stuff we are shedding, the attic remains full of things we never use but can’t seem to part with. Not counting the sentimental things like my wedding gown, photo albums, and high school yearbooks, we catalogued cowboy hats, Mexican sombreros, a French maid costume (for the love of God, do not ask…) old artwork, knick-knacks, and the cushion for a papasan chair we no longer own.
We counted twelve—yes, twelve—large boxes filled to near bursting with stuffed animals, the detritus of Christmas/Easter/Valentine’s presents past. These we managed to whittle down to one box of sentimental stuffers to be safeguarded, which included my own beloved bear named Teddy (I was such a creative child,) a gift from Santa when I was nine. The rest were divided into two groups, the “like new” pile, suitable for donation; and the “hazmat suit required; discard at once” pile.
Anyway, I’m thrilled that we opened up space in the attic, the better to store more stuff that we do not need but cannot jettison. We might need it later. I mean, take the sombreros, cowboy hats, and French maid costume—who knows when these things might be required to extricate us from a life and death situation? Or better still, might be used to embarrass our teenaged daughter (“OMG! You are so not wearing that to the mall, are you?”) That, my friends, makes them priceless.
You know, some things are just worth saving.
Til next time,