Gone are my wild days of...oh, yeah, I never partied or went to bars. So why do I feel weird about sitting home on a Friday night watching Monk and Psych (thank you, USA Network, for fresh summer programming in the form of these two shows)? I'm going through some old stuff for our big yard sale tomorrow (me and two of my cousins - it's a bit last minute, but I've been clearing out stuff to donate all week, so I'm just moving my "donate" pile to the "sell" pile).
This big clearing out is part of our move. All that's left is the basement. Duh-duh-duh. The basement is where we hide all of our extra junk. During the winter when it's too cold to spend time down there, all the crap just piles up. Since this involves Christmas, all of that stuff is just tossed down there. It's been cleaned up some, but still needs a massive cleaning out.
I've learned that I'm a bit more of a packrat than I thought. I think of myself as having a reasonable amount of emotion attached to possessions. But then Tom (who is a total thrower-outer) went through the kids' toys. And got rid of lots of stuff - like the stuffed animal we bought last summer at the beach or books we've bought from Scholastic (okay, not the finest quality). All right in the trash. First of all, this could have been donated or sold (see first paragraph). Second of all, some of that is nice stuff that our younger kids might like to use. And then I decided to just step back and let him do it and I probably wouldn't miss any of it.
At least between the two of us, we have a reasonable attachment to stuff. Mine is "keep what truly means something - that you can tell a story about or explain the meaning of." His is "get rid of anything you don't use daily." I think between the two of us, we have it.
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