My husband and I cleaned out the storage area above the garage – without marital discord. He likes to toss, while I like to “consider” how an item may be useful, still. Add in the his/hers factor: as comedian George Carlin said, “Please move your crap so I have room for my stuff!”

After we sifted through the home repair remnants of paint cans, wood trim and unidentifiable weird stuff, we found collections of our younger years: camping gear, cross-country skis and lots and lots of baby items.  We know we will never camp again (his back issues); I insisted we keep the skis; the baby items are a time capsule for our son.   Soon I will open the plastic bins and show him how his mom dressed him in his infancy and toddler days. Then the little clothes will go off to someone else’s little person.

My husband discovered several boxes of notebooks from work.  Now retired, he happily tossed notebook after notebook from the upper level of the storage area down into the trash can below. “The final letting go,” he declared.

I felt sadness in my throat – and a bit of relief - as I watched artifacts of our younger years hit the ground. The cleaning out was a letting go of stuff and an era, recognizing we are entering a new stage of life: only the essentials, just practical tools needed for our senior years. 

(S-R archive photo)

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