Overdue Decluttering

Or: Choosing the Right Perspective.

The Jazzman and I have been occasionally driving past a certain house for nine months while we waited for it to go through foreclosure. The next-door neighbors on one side are friends of mine. Two doors over on the other side, the homeowners are friends of the Jazzman. There are a number of features I like about the house, the two most important being a very green and secluded backyard and a dead-end street.

We have set up an appointment to go see the house tomorrow. It's available for a small amount of money (as are most houses in the area), but would need quite a bit of work (as do most of the houses in the area!).

I've been in my house two-and-a-quarter years, and really love this house. But there are a helluva lot of steps to traverse in this house, and it's not air conditioned. The older I get, the more I miss the cool, conditioned air in the summer and the more I despise all those steps. And we ain't gettin' any younger!

But my point in telling this story is what the thought of packing did to me, as I sat and pondered a potential move yesterday. Omigod! I have probably 15 storage containers filled with fabrics of all types. I have silks and linens and fine apparel-making fabrics that I have picked up on many trips abroad. I have high-quality cottons for quilting. I have interesting fabrics perfect for making purses. I have quilt batting and soft animal stuffing. I have buttons to die for and enough thread to stretch from here to California. I have three sewing machines and a serger.

But sewing isn't my only passion. I have a small cabinet plus four or five boxes full of beading and jewelry-making supplies. I have a basket of cross-stitch supplies and two boxes full of knitting supplies. I have fabric dyes and fabric paints and all the buckets and measuring devices and stretchers I need to use them.

And books. Do I have books?! Tyler and I subscribe to the theory that a person is known by the books he keeps. And so I have kept books. My library bookshelves were so full I couldn't unpack my cookbooks. Yesterday I spent 2.5 hours culling the books that—although I love them—I will never read again. I organized the shelves by topic or area of interest: law; cooking; glass; pottery; fiber; jewelry-making; adoption; art; fiction; …. The box that the cookbooks were in now is full of books to go to the Mahoning County "Friends of the Library" store. And I have another 100 or so arts & crafts books in the basement.

I have a basket full of logo'd mugs that I've collected over the years. I used to throw parties where there were 30-50 guests; I needed those mugs. The most people I've had in my house at once since I moved in was 10. I don't need those mugs any more.

Whenever the Jazzman and I talk about this potential new home, I'm mentally calculating how long it would take to plan and execute the renovation and how much crap many treasured belongings I could dump release into the universe in that period of time.

But even if we look at the house tomorrow and say, "There is no way in hell we are taking on that project, ravine in the backyard or not," I have a new mission in life. And I'm going to stay on it until I feel much less overwhelmed by stuff.

You are never going to see me on A&E's "Hoarders".