I wouldn’t have thought we owned a lot of “stuff”. A few sticks of furniture, some inherited antiques, pots and pans, clothes, tools, books, pictures, bits and pieces… just like everyone else. Right? No! No! An inner voice intervened. “Count the number of cupboards, wardrobes, drawers, storage places and garage space. Not the stuff you see but the stuff that’s there lurking in the dark, quietly growing, day by day. All the stuff you have been keeping in case it might be useful someday.” Storage space fills exponentially in ratio to the size of the house and time lived there – in our case after twenty- two years, we were the proud owners of a cornucopia of stuff. All of which was useful… of course? Of course.
I think attitudes toward “stuff takes into account the constant bombardment of advertising – telling us that purchasing more makes us happy, smiling people; part of a family with solid relationships and, of course everyone is handsome and beautiful with successful careers. “Buy! Buy!” is the cry. Bigger houses with more stuff and especially more toilets will make you happier. Conversely having no stuff can reduce you to walking the street with a shopping cart or standing on a street corner with a piece of cardboard panhandling. (Interesting cooking word from the 19th Century “panhandling” meant stretching out the arm towards the pan.) But even panhandlers have their stuff which tells them they too are owners and members of society. Our stuff may be better than theirs but who on earth would we be without it? Having made the decision to sell our house, Marney and I spent over two months disposing of our stuff. Cupboard by cupboard, wardrobe by wardrobe. A sort of desperate ruthlessness came creeping in. “If in doubt throw it out.” came the cry.
“But I like my guitar. It was expensive.”
“Did you play it?”
“A little bit. I need some lessons”
“Give it to someone who will play it.”
“These are my books from the age of eleven.”
“Do you read them?”
“Well no…I mean. I’m going to read that one… and I’ve read half of that.” “This one has a dedication from my late sister ‘To Alan with love from Margaret on his birthday, Jan. 1962.’ “
“Those are my school prizes. Priceless!”
“Will you read them again?”
“Probably not.”
“Then release them into the world to be read by someone else.”
Reason and emotion battle it out. Tears fall.
Naturally you believe that your precious purchases must be worth something. Well, you may have paid good money for those Chinese antiques, but it doesn’t mean they are worth anything. Initially I emailed a couple of reputable Asian Antique companies with pictures and received the polite and prompt reply “Thank you. We are not interested.” Even the 19th century family heirlooms, entrusted to me by my mother, the walnut bookcase, the davenport, the grandfather clock made barely a ripple. ”Young people do not want old furniture. They like Ikea,” Your stuff is not worth what you thought, and Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs unfortunately does not include all your “stuff.”
So, what did we do? We sold what we could for whatever we could or gave it away to friends or charitable organizations or disposed of it at the dump. I did an almost daily run to White Dove and Goodwill, happy with the thought that everything might be worth something to someone. The books all went to a charity, VSNA, which supports foster children and literacy programs. Our wonderful neighbors told us what they liked and insisted on paying for it. For the rest that we had decided to keep, we tried to get a good auction house, but they were all too busy with so many people selling their houses. Unfortunately, we had little choice and hired some cowboy auctioneers from Sun City who were like the proverbial vultures on the fence waiting for the estates of the old and the dying to become available. They also took the rest we couldn’t keep in our storage for cents on the dollar.
After five weeks we had stripped the house bare except for some precious art and pottery and a couple of pieces of furniture. It was hard going between nostalgia and emotional attachment as opposed to the thought that given our age and desire to travel, it was appropriate. We cried a lot but at the same time felt liberated. What we kept was wrapped in plastic or packed in framed boxes and lined the walls in our new storage place. The rest of our kingdom of stuff collected so lovingly and assiduously for so many years, now lined the walls of the auction room. We finally sold them our car and… we were free.
Marney here…
Everything Alan said is exactly how it was. It was difficult but with so little time to get out before the new owner moved in, we had to act quickly and the decisions about what to keep or what to sell/give away, etc. was ongoing and frankly tiring. I’m the one who arranged for the cowboys and boy, did I learn a lesson I never even imagined when I lived in Texas. They offered to “buy” certain things and let me know about others they didn’t “want”. The surprise was they took EVERYTHING including the stuff they didn’t want (translated meant we will take it away for you but won’t pay you for it.) Yee Haw! Live and learn!!
Anyway, we got it all done and managed to get the plane (barely) as Uber cancelled our ride 10 minutes before they were supposed to pick us up at 2:30 A.M. Luckily Alan called a nice person with the cab company who came and picked us up herself.
So, now we are here in Belize without our “stuff” which is okay – most of the time. At least until I reach for my favorite jeans or hair product and realize they didn’t fit in the suitcases with the 50-pound regulation. At least we exchanged our “stuff” for blue skies and decent temperatures, albeit with a rotten egg smell from the seaweed in the ocean front. More on Belize later…
