Today, a passion struck that was apart from the mandolin.
It was the desire to lighten a la garage sale. My daughter was amazingly non-sentimental: a box her grandfather carved for her hit the pile. "Yes, sell it!" she continually barked. She's been known as as "aaah" and "oooh-er" (she doesn't know yet that the Mercer Mayer Little Critter books are in the stack too), and we have boxes of her hither-thither joint custody arrangement to prove every step of her life. But since her dad deposited all of her boxes on our doorstep before he moved to the east coast, she has access to sell everything from one household, and she is determined to make enough money for eye brushes, homecoming gowns, American Eagle clothes, and car bank account. Costly aspirations for the next stage, so everything must go. A few things stay, though, like the Steve Erkel and the Starla doll. Reminders of the good life.
For myself, I feel suffocation at the brink of a good clean. I hate clutter; I hate stuff. If I had to move in a day's notice, I would love to be ready to go. As a matter of fact, I've had a huge urge for several years to make the home as empty as possible, to sweep out everything in the basement. If the good Lord said, "GO to Zimbabwe," I'd be petrified yet ready to give up everything: my old college papers (my one-time identity still in the storage bin); my old love letters (Lance, Guy, Stan ... ); my water-damaged C.S. Lewis books; my senior memory book; other correspondence that came and went. Those are the most meaningful things to me. However, I felt tonight that for once I was pulling away from those days. I don't have those longings to return, to be affirmed in such way, like I once did. Ageful progress, I reckon, for which I'm glad in a way.
My son had the most difficult problem with his cascade of toys which have play potential in them yet. Finally, though, he turned over all of his early-year books. Finally, he is growing out of his kindergarten and first grade clothes (even though in fourth grade now). He has a stack downstairs to call his own. He has dollar signs in his eyeballs.
Well, it's late, and I must go to bed. It has been a productive day of load-lightening....
Bon soir!