My mother and step dad have decided to move to a two-bedroom apartment in a lovely senior living facility. That means, they'll be packing up the necessities and can't-live-without luxuries from the sprawling 5-bedroom home where I grew up. And leaving the rest to us, the five kids. I knew this day was coming, of course, and I applaud my mother for making the move while she's still fit in body and mind. I have no doubt she is making the right decision at the right time. But, there's still the matter of the stuff.
In with the new (top shelf).
Out with the old (glasses from old candles)
Mom has 90 days before the move (omigod, does that mean it's happening at Christmas!?!) so she has started to clear closets and cupboards, expunging stuff she won't take to the new digs. Every time I go to visit, I leave with stuff. Yesterday, it was a set of Mexican glasses and a pitcher made by my good friend, the amazing Marie Deborah Wald. Which was great. I wanted that stuff. But, the time before, I agreed to take something I thought I wanted at the time, then changed my mind when I got home. What was I going to do, take it back?
Stuff I wanted.
And, not so much
After all, I told the hubs. I'm trying to EDIT the house, not add to it. I recently decided that my home has too much "decor." Little vignettes of stuff that I used to love, but now look dated to me. And so, the replacement theory must kick in: One thing in; one thing out. That's my plan and I'm sticking to it. But, who will I give MY stuff to? The kids? They're WAY too smart for that.