Urban to Rural: The Things We Keep
I almost put on our wedding invitations – No plastic, please.
If you were to visit our home you wouldn't find Tupperware in the cupboards. Unless Joel snuck it in. Or it held a treat from a gracious friend and will be returned to them soon. Most didn't end up getting us plastic items after all. They know me well, for that I'm grateful. Plastic is inevitable but I do what I can. During our continued Spring cleaning Joel has said this on repeat: Don't throw this out, I'm still using it. On a scale of 1 to Irrational, I'm an impatient 9 when it comes to organizing the Moon Lodge.
Through all the box-digging I've wondered, Why do we keep the things we keep?
I'm just shuffling things from one room to the next in hopes the piles will become smaller and smaller – making space. It's tempting to box it all up & donate. Out of sight, out of mind. Then I find a box I forgot about. It's holding an old WNBA Shock jersey, CDs from my 90's childhood, a vintage butterfly box, an olive green fork, boat tickets to Beaver Island.
Why do we keep the things we keep?
In all the minimalism are memories being forgotten? Might there be a space where both can be kept? Yes, & it looks like my Grandma's cabin blanket at the end of our bed. A walking stick from a trip to Lake Superior with my Dad next to a dish holding my sage from Kate on the credenza we built last May. A mermaid, like my Mother's, nearby.
There are piles and they're getting to me (my drive for clarity is a curse). But they are piles that surround me with memories & moments from the ones I love & who love me back. That will always be worth keeping. Off to put a fresh coat of paint on the studio/guest room before my parents arrive for a weekend visit. May we take care of our people like we take care of our piles, friends.
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