#3 Luggage

My story: As an avid lover of travel, I have acquired so many suitcases and travel bags over the years, it’s ridiculous. I have one for nearly every size adventure that I could ever dream of going on!

When I see them, the set that my parents gave me for my high school graduation present still make me smile. What a great gift they gave me as they sent me out into the big world. Here it is when it was new, when I could fit all of my belongings in that bag.

An hour after this was taken I was on a Trailways bus, departing to my new life in Colorado. Note that this was before they invented suitcases with wheels! How things have changed since I was 17!

One of my favorites (that I do not use) was given to me by my grandfather. I love the vintage style, and have often thought about repurposing it into an art installation or a piece of furniture.  It reminds me of him, and the adventurous spirit that I inherited from him. 

The truth: Even though I have so many sizes to choose from, I always use the same one when I travel, no matter how long the journey is going to take. I have learned to travel lighter when I take trips. It makes getting around so much easier!  It’s my goal to travel lighter in the rest of my life, too. Most of these are just gathering dust in my basement. Crap, my luggage has turned into baggage!

I have to be honest and say, if I haven’t made my art installation or furniture after having Hud’s suitcase for over 20 years, it probably isn’t going to happen.

My action: I gathered all my suitcases that I don't use and donated them to take to a thrift store that raises money for people with developmental disabilities. Some of them were in such poor condition they went to the trash. Nobody is going to buy a suitcase that is held together with duct tape, ha! Almost all of them still had remnants of the last trip that we took together, which I have either thrown out or added to scrapbooks. These  possessions are not needed to remind me of the profound gratitude I have of those adventures. 

#2. Rose Heart Wreath

My story: When my daughter was eight years old she spent every other weekend at her dad’s house, and more often in the summer. That year she planted and grew a beautiful rose garden there, one that she was quite passionate about.  I remember how painfully hard it was to be away from her, and how much I would look forward to her return with an update of her “award-winning” roses. She would go into thorough detail about every one of them.

At the end of the summer, she presented me with a wreath that contained every single one of the roses that she had grown, dried and arranged in a heart. She was so excited to give it to me, so proud of her achievement. It was among the sweetest gifts I have ever received, made with such pure love.   

It still makes me smile, such a beautiful reminder of that time and of her love. My daughter, on the other hand, HATES it!  She frequently tells me how kitschy it is, how it embarrasses her that I still have it hanging in my house. She begs me to get rid of it, and even thinking about doing that is really hard. Everything molecule in my sappy soul tells me that getting rid of it is wrong, which is why it is still on my wall.

The truth: Nearly 15 years later, the rose heart wreath is not holding up so well. The color has faded, and petals fall off every time I close the door that is near it. It’s a dust magnet, and because it is too fragile to dust, it’s getting kind of germy. My daughter is living with me temporarily, and I want her to like the space where she lives. If I get rid of it, there will be a space on my wall that can be filled by one of her brilliant paintings. It is just a thing. She is the everlasting gift that continues, even if this symbol of her goes away. Plus, dead things are really bad feng shui.

My action: I took a picture of my favorite gift and am posting it here, just in case I ever want to visit it. The roses are in the trash, the “frame” is at a thrift store. I hope that another daughter finds it there and makes a new gift for her mom, one that brings her as much joy as this has brought me. 

#1. My Horse Collection

My story: When I was a kid, I was obsessed with horses. Not a liking or a fancy, it was a full-on obsession. Nearly all of my school assignments were decorated with sketches of horses that I had doodled in the corner.  The bed where I slept was surrounded with a plethora of horse figurines that my friends and family had given to me.

I can’t believe I am admitting this to the world, but there were actually days where I woke up and decided that I was going to be a horse that day. Seriously, I would get around on all 4’s, never standing vertically for the entire day! My dad would turn pink with frustration when the only conversation I would exude was a neigh or a whinny. My mom would defend me (to him) as being creative, not strange, and would gently ask if she could brush my mane. 

Here is a classic photo that highlights that time. Yep. I'm saddled up and raring to go!

Later in teen-hood my best friend, Geoffrey, would con me into scooping horseshit and scrubbing stalls in exchange for riding one of his gorgeous quarter horses. He wouldn’t even help! In his defense, he would provide amusing company and play excellent music as I did his chores. Occasionally he would show up on horseback at my house in the middle of the night, leading another horse that I could ride. With his tap on my window, I would slide out into the night, together we would ride for hours under a breathtaking moonlit sky.

This is what my horse collection symbolizes to me.

The truth: I have not even looked at my horse collection for years. Their poor old plastic/porcelain/copper bodies have been wrapped in newspaper, taking space in a box in my basement. They do not represent who I am now - unless you believe Carl Jung. He believed that the horse stands for the mother within us. Even with that belief, I have more significant, living symbols of that trait. Ones who aren’t taking up space in my basement!

My action: I am incredibly pleased to announce that the Pikes Peak Therapeutic Riding Center has agreed to take the horse figurines that are in good condition. They will give them to kids with disabilities at the end of their ride as a memento of their experience. They will be adored again, definitely even more, I am so happy!

This probably does not sound significant to most, but it is kind of a big thing to me that I threw out the ones that were broken. There are a lot of things like this that I have that I think will make excellent art projects in the future. I see their potential, but realistically do not follow up with the action of actually doing it. Gone. Released to higher pastures!

My final action is believing my mother. I am creative. 

(I'm not sure why this image is so small, but you can click on it and make it bigger)

24 Things Project

Can’t believe that it has been nearly 3 years since I have contributed to this blog! I have reduced, but have neglectfully failed to journal, or even think about the reasons that certain physical objects that, for me, are hard to let go of. My intentions were divine; my outcome, not so good. Thankfully, this day gives me another chance for positive action.

Inspired by this website (thank you, Amber!) it is my renewed project to give away 24 things that I have been saving for significant reasons and/or an unusually long time, but have not been using. Time to really clear the clutter, journal the stories, break the habit of saving things that would be more useful in the hands of someone else. I expect this introspection to be both painful and hysterical, ultimately gratifying and freeing. So excited to travel 24 things more lightly!

The Hoarder

I recently saw a tv show where a compulsive hoarder was interviewed, and gave a tour of her apartment. Thin trails through mountains of stuff could barely accommodate the cameras. The woman who procured treasures was graciously honest about her disorder, and truly wanted her life to be different. Yet, she struggled to release the things that were worth something to her for some reason or another. Restrictions of her landlord and the local fire department were a constant. She was always defending her position on the stuff that had a hold on her. I felt for her in a big way, as I feel I am on the brink of being in her shoes.

My upbringing facilitates hoarding. We were definitely rewarded for being resourceful, finding and using everything to it's maximum capacity. Theoretically, I will always agree to minimize waste and reuse. It scares me that I am finding myself clinging on to belongings as if I am going to lose the memory or intention that made it valuable to me to begin with. I am eager to find a happy medium before it takes over my life, like the lady on tv.

My grandfather, who was coincidentally (or not) my favorite person on the planet, was a major hoarder. All which could be attributed later to his surviving the Great Depression. A carpenter, he saved everything he could find in garbage dumps and abandoned houses that could possibly be used to build just one more house in his retirement. A master builder, he would just construct another complex shed to accommodate the goods he was collecting when the previous one filled up. When his mind was officially gone, we moved him to the Alzheimer's home. Among a trillion other things, there were 3 large truckloads solely consisting of screened glass windows, found in the 20 plus sheds in his back yard. Every prior year, for Christmas, we would exchange a "Gutt-box", a large box stacked to the brim with amusing junk that we had collected throughout the year, appropriately named after his last name, Guttinger. The stellar years were when we found classic hubcaps, license plates, or car parts on the side of the road. My first car, a 1967 Buick Skylark, was totally pimping with a Jaguar hood ornament, thanks to his keen junk eye.

While going through Mom's estate last year, we howled with laughter at the stuff she saved. She never once in her lifetime threw out a bank statement or a piece of aluminum foil. We teased that she could only use a 1 square inch piece of aluminum foil for a crack deal. But, as we divided out her belongings, I realized that I was the one with the inherited affliction of not releasing the items that are connected to the heart. My brother and sister wanted nothing to do with the family heirlooms that I hold dear. Although their houses have more than double the square footage than mine, they did not want find room for the family portraits, the diaries, the travel journals, the stuff behind the history. Please know that I am not criticizing them at all for this, as their connections and boundaries are probably far more healthy than mine. I just could not let go. I actually mentally tried to find ways of moving Mom's walls, lined with memories of her and us, from Ohio to Colorado. I know in my mind that I will never lose the memories that those walls surrounded them. I just have a hard time letting go and trusting that nothing will be lost in my translation. I don't want my children to bear the burden of tossing out everything that I can't.

Granted, the only "trails" that I have are in my basement, which is also my garage, my tool shed, my closet for out of season clothes and art supplies. Regardless, I have the desire to be much lighter, in every way that I know. I have come to the realization that my house, my vehicle, my stuff, even my body, has far outgrown me. Things will only be right when I live within my means, which is much less than I have now. I want much more substance, which involves having much less stuff to clutter the way.

Please join me in my journey, this is the beginning of a new and lighter day. I am downsizing in a big way. I plan to document that journey here, hoping that maybe in analyzing why I keep certain things, it might be easier to part with them.

"We all got things that hang on our back
Things that make us cool, things that make us whack,
Things that make us mad, things we wish we never had
But they’re just the things that make us real
Not the maps that guide where we go from here
The road twists in braids like hair, until we all get there ."

from "Braided Hair", One Giant Leap