Stuff

  Things. Treasures. Junk. Possessions. Trappings. Synonyms abound for what we choose to wrap our lives with.
  Whatever we call it, our stuff says much about us. But our stuff can also teach us...stuff.
  My Grandmother's stuff gave me my first lesson. When it became necessary for me to go through her home and deal with her stuff, I tried giving some of the best of it to her friends.
  "Honey," they told me, "We're trying to get rid of our own stuff. We don't want any more things."
  My Grandmother - like myself - had been a collector. She treasured her stuff. For no one to want it? That would have been hard for her to take. And if she knew certain of her offspring would eventually be smashing her collectible Japanese plates for mosaics? Well, some of us are fortunate we're not haunted by Mrs. L. Stinson.
  The possibility that my own children might not want my treasures had never before occurred to me.
  Pause while I see my trappings in a different light.
  Moving from Portland, Oregon to Fort Myers Beach provided opportunities for my own stuff to throw a lesson my way. While never one for the arranged clutter one sees in magazines such as Country Living and Shabby Chic, there did come a more minimalist sense of decor as things were put in boxes over the course of several months. I liked it.
  This surprised me mightily because I had long been leery of minimalists. What does a minimalist DO in their home? It's as if they're prepared to bolt at a moment's notice. I'm guessing a good many are in the witness protection program.
  Although my 60 plus teapots tend to belie it, I've since made certain bare surfaces are welcome in my home.
  My love of collecting antique stuff had me leaning towards haughty. I've never been one to fling myself into a furniture store or a Target for my stuff. I SEARCH for it in places specializing in yesteryear. My stuff has PROVENANCE. It has MEANING. It CALLS to me.
  This, of course, is all a crock.
  And, pause as I realize my stuff had hoodwinked me.
  In an effort to brush up on letting go, I give away a favorite vintage hat.
  I still wish I hadn't done that. The hat really did suit me and it had once belonged to...well, never mind.
  Letting go is a worthy end. And to that end, more stuff must go. It's time to lighten my load.
  But, I can't make myself host a garage sale - mostly because when people want to dicker with me on a .25 item, my first impulse is to throw the item at them while crying out, "Are you kidding me! Just take the ^%&#@ thing!"
  I think, though, that a Facebook sale may be on the horizon. 
  I do have some awesome stuff by the way. Some of it came from an old...again, never mind.