Obligations and Medusa

So, I had an hour in the garage today.  At the end of the hour, there were two empty boxes being taken to recycling and a stack of books to be taken to the library for donation.  All-in-all, the most successful day since I began this process. 

BUT

The amount of stuff that I found that I have absolutely no idea what to do with was unbelievable.  A nicely organized tub of high school “memories.”  Ugh.

A tub of CASSETTE tapes.  What is this, 1983?  But not just cassettes of music I liked back in the day.  Cassettes of people I know and the bands they were in at the time.  Not exactly available on iTunes. 

Books, books, and more books.

And finally….the tub of collectibles.  COLLECTIBLES.  Unlike the other treasure chests, I knew exactly what was in this tub.  Or so I thought.  I knew there were a few figurines.  Royal Doulton figurines, to be specific.  I knew there were some other things that I had asked for from my parents’ house.  But then I started unwrapping the newspaper.  Some wonderfully positive finds:  a china tea party set, just the perfect size for my little girl, a book that was owned by my Grandpa (containing his penmanship), a picture of my Dad as a baby.   

But then more and more things that just made me groan.  Did I really ask for this bowl?  Why do I have this Norwegian wooden horse?  (Sing along everybody….”Isn’t it good Norwegian wood?”)  I also have the ashtrays that held my dad’s cigarette butts until he quit back in 1992.  I don’t smoke and I have two ashtrays with Dutch windmills decorating them.  We’re Dutch, so you know, we have all the windmill decorations that money can buy so we can prove this heritage to anyone who might doubt it.  Norwegian, too.  Thus, the painted horse.  Rosemaling is the official term. 

So, the spiritual questions here are, why am I saving ceramic tiles with windmills painted on them?  Is this what my Dutch ancestors would have hoped for me?  I don’t think so.  There are seven tiles.  I thought…maybe I should just save one.  And I keep looking at them, trying to decide which one I like…and then I realize…I don’t really like any of them.  Why do I want that kind of energy hanging around my home?  My home should be filled with things that I love, that remind me of good things, that make me think of treasured times with treasured people. 

The figurines are the perhaps the worst part of the whole thing.  Here is their story.  My Aunt loved Royal Doulton figurines.  Loved them.  So she asked for them every Christmas.  Wanting to keep all things equal, my grandparents also got figurines for my parents each Christmas.  My parents didn’t want them.  Didn’t like them.  Accepted them with gracious smiles, and knowing that the whole family would be to their house within just a few months, had to unpack them, put them up in a display cabinet and keep things around that they just didn’t like.  So now I have the figurines that they never liked and only kept out of obligation.  (Reread that last sentence and imagine me pointing to myself vigorously while saying the letter "I" and raising my voice to a shrill level.)  There’s a lot of baggage that comes with these nicely dressed ladies and I don’t have room in my life for it.  Because I think of the obligation that comes with the Royal Doultons every time I look at them.  So…they’re on the chopping block.  Along with the tiles.  It’s time to open up this space for better feelings, room to breathe, and peace.  Blessed, blessed peace. 

One final note…after a happy trip to recycle the two boxes I consolidated/emptied today, I found two more in the basement that could definitely use some attention.  Argharghargh….

Clutter, I dub thee…Medusa.