I’ve written a lot about clutter in this journal. It’s a problem for me. I was raised by two people who liked things and collected things, and the apple that is me fell right under that tree. When Mr. K and I moved from Michigan, we did get rid of some of our possessions before we left, but so many remained that they wouldn’t all fit in our condo out here in Idaho, so we rented what I call the studio, a semi-finished office space down in town which functions as a very large storage unit and a place for me to pursue some of my hobbies in a more convenient setup than our condo. It holds some of my collections, some of the stuff from our house in Michigan, the stuff I kept from my mom’s house (including some things she had kept from my dad’s and grandma’s places), and stuff we kept from Mr. K’s mom’s house when she moved into her continuing care facility. It’s a lot. I’ve been trying to poke at the boxes a little at a time, but it’s hard for me to get rid of things because I’m so sentimental. Case in point: this ashtray I came across in a box of stuff from my mom’s. I remember it sitting on an end table in my parents’ house (later just my dad’s house). It’s very much my mom’s aesthetic, and while there was a time I rebelled against that color palette, it’s very much grown on me in recent years. Still, I don’t need an ashtray. I don’t have room in my house to display it. But just getting rid of it seems wrong somehow. Maybe by documenting it here, I can feel better about letting it go.

 

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On this date in 2019: Distractable
2018: Whithr Flickr
2017: I Kinda Remember Having Goals
2016: Pre-Trip Trip
2015: Octoberfest
2014: Music, Family, and a Furry Kitten
2013: Thanksgiving Recap
2012: Me, My Stuff, and I
2011-2007: No entries
2006: Surprise
2004 & 2005: No entries
2003: Boomer? Moi?
2002: Goal Check-In #5