On Saturday Simon and I are having a garage sale with our friend Meghan and Emily. I should say that Meghan, Emily, and I are having a garage sale, and that Simon is helping. I don't know that Simon is capable of paring down his belongings much more than he already has, which means that most of the stuff from our household on the garage sale happens to be mine.
A few years ago, prior to moving to Flagstaff, Simon and I had a massive garage sale with our friends Ben and Elizabeth, who were also moving. It was probably one of the biggest garage sales that I've ever seen...basically it was two entire households paring down into whatever could fit into two small apartments, respectively. It was physically and emotionally tough. Going through the things we'd kept over the years always is. There's so much attachment to things; so many memories come rushing back just at the sight, the smell, the feel of something that's been tucked away in a box for years. For Ben and Elizabeth, a lot of their belongings were things that they used and looked at everyday, but no longer had room for. I sometimes think about how hard that sale was for them...I wonder if they cried or were tearful when no one was around to see. They seemed so strong and resilient at the time, as they always do, for they are some of the strongest people I know. I've never really asked them about it, as I was afraid that maybe it would be upsetting for them to talk about.
This time around the garage sale is a little different, in that now I'm selling some of my favorite things. These are the things that weren't even considered for the first garage sale. My Christmas decorations, some of my Willow Tree people, my kitchen chickens, my Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer bedsheets. It sounds so silly to be attached to material things, but there it is just the same. I spent the day going through my things, putting prices on them that, to me, seemed far too low, but were appropriate for a garage sale. Sentimental value means nothing to people looking for a deal. I ended the day in tears, as poor Simon, who doesn't have material attachment, drove me home in silence. Which is good. Sometimes being quiet when you're upset or in the presence of someone who is upset is best. He knew I was in a bad place when he offered to take me to Freddy's for frozen custard and I declined. I never pass up frozen custard, but I'm also not a stress eater...I'm more of a stress-starver, and even the thought of one of my favorite treats becomes nauseating.
I know deep down that it's stupid to be so attached to items that were most likely made by some poor, mistreated factory worker in China. But I held on to all these things for a reason...they made me happy, and they have memories attached to them. I remember where I was and who I was with when I got most of those items. Some of them were gifts, some of them were impulse buys, some of them were to fill a space on the wall or the shelf. But all of them are things that I like.
I'm at place in my life where material things just don't really have a place anymore. I live in a tiny apartment that's already bursting at the seams with things that are mostly necessary for everyday life. I look around my kitchen and there is not one knick knack. There's barely room enough for cooking instruments, let alone an entire decade's worth of chicken paraphernalia. The living room, the bedroom, the bathroom...more of the same. There's just not room for all my favorite things here.
For the most part, I don't miss my things or even think about them when they are tucked away. They've spent a significant amount of their time over the past decade stashed away in boxes collecting dust and mouse poop and who knows what else in our storage unit. Out of sight, out of mind. But seeing all my things today...my chickens, my snowmen, my candle holders...all my fun and pretty things that I've collected throughout the years...it's just tearing me apart. I know that in a few weeks, heck, even a few days, their absence won't be so palpable and I won't even miss them, but right now it's leaving me very raw.
Even those garish red and yellow curtains that I bought at IKEA all those years ago...they're nothing special...they're not even very appealing, but my grandma hemmed them for me over 10 years ago. I held them in my hands today and I ran my fingers over the stitches and it just made me miss her so, so much. I could just picture her feeding the fabric into her sewing machine, something so simple for her but a skill that I never quite mastered. Hemming those curtains was something that she did for me because she was good at it, and because she loved me, and because as she had gotten older, she liked having things to do that made her feel useful. Grandma was always very concerned about being useful and once commented that when she was no longer useful, that we should just throw her into a ditch along the highway. I found that request to be a little extreme, as even when her fingers became too arthritic to sew, her hands were still wonderful to hold. To me, there would never be a point in my life that she wasn't useful. Never. I want to keep those curtains just because they are a physical reminder of her...of something she did, of something she enjoyed. She died 6 years ago and sometimes she feels so far away, but today, seeing those curtains made her feel close again, while simultaneously making her absence so painfully palpable.
So here I sit at my computer...a snotty, sad, ugly-crying mess...trying to work out all these emotions and feelings that are running through me at this very moment. I know that it's silly to keep things that are just taking up space in a storage unit...things that haven't seen the light of day in years. They should be enjoyed by someone, even if that someone doesn't happen to be me. My things made me happy and now it's time for them to make someone else happy. I just wish I could send their stories with them...the chicken-shaped salt and pepper shakers that I got in North Carolina when I was out shopping with my friend Suzy; the snowman I got from my ex-boyfriend's Grandma (who I adored) because she knew that I liked snowmen the best out of all the winter characters; the pug Beanie Baby that I got from my parents because, well, I love pugs; the Party-Lite votive holders that I've kept for all these years because I thought they were pretty, and because they still hold the faint scent of the peach-scented candles that I always liked the best...those Party-Lite candles remind me of all the in-home parties I went to with my mom, her sisters, and her friends...all us girls sitting around eating snacks and not worrying about homework, or laundry, or bills...the flickering firelight of the candles dancing off our laughing faces.
There is so much power in memories, and sometimes that power is overwhelming. Memories carry with them a sense of pride, happiness, and loss. I think that's a good thing, but it can also be a very painful thing. As we age some of our older memories fade while we make new ones. It's funny how some of those memories are but a distant thought in the back of our minds, and then all sudden come rushing back at the sight or touch of something nearly forgotten. Does it mean that we should keep these physical manifestations of our memories? Even if that means decades worth of storage rentals and dusty boxes moved across the country and back again? I guess right now I don't know. I should probably figure that out before Saturday, eh?
I hope your memories mostly make you happy...even the sad ones.
