That’s what you get when you have space to fill. It’s like we innately can’t handle empty space. It must be filled. I’m the furthest thing from a hoarder but there’s one living in my house. I know him well. We have at least six pairs of pliers as every time you need one we can’t find them so we just buy a new one. We’ve got four vacuum cleaners. One on each floor. I do have an entire drawer full of mismatched socks that I plan on tackling soon. But hell if I haven’t needed them within the past few years, I’m thinking just toss ’em. My Grandma used to take all the excess socks and neckties and towels and clothing to make braided rugs. Well I don’t see that on the horizon. Unlikely.
And the chances of wearing any of the twenty something suits and endless sport jackets is slim. I don’t need them anymore … they gotta go. Except my black cashmere jacket from Barneys Warehouse sale. Oh and the silk tie I wrestled Courtney Love to get. Just because I won. The tie’s ehhhhhhh. And my father’s Pendleton coat. It’s gotta be sixty years old and in perfect shape. And my very first suit made by my Uncle Sam. Olive green tweed. Had it relined a few years ago. My name’s stitched into it. I wear it once a year. I mean the thing’s brittle. One flicked cigarette? Ashes.
I’m thinking I don’t need twenty bath towels and sixteen sets of sheets. No sign of Rapunzel lately.
Then we get to the family memorabilia. Well the basement’s pretty much a shrine to dead family members. Things aren’t showing signs of slowing down either. Some of the stuff freaks me out but I’m afraid to screw with it. A hex on your house.
The day we leave the house we’re leaving everything in it behind. You want it? G’head.
New episode of life. New place. New stuff.
Well not the mahogany rocking chair. And get your mitts off our paintings from Florence. I think that’s it.
Oh and my grandmother’s etched glass pitcher. My Godmother’s been eyeing that far too much. She ain’t getting it!