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Downsizing, Schmownsizing
Last week I had a lovely “visit” with a good friend. One of the things we discussed was how we’d decided to spend some of our Pandemic Moments cleaning house. Yep! Purging. Downsizing. Becoming minimalists. Call it whatever you want to call it. We talked about our abundance of stuff. For some reason we’d been bitten, once again, by the getrid- of-it bug. Just before The Pandemic made us all crazy and introspective we’d watched the Marie Kondo series on Netflix. Shortly after the last episode/purge-asode we attacked our closets, drawers, closets and wardrobes with a vengeance —with gusto, even. Never before had we said goodbye to so much in such a short period of time. To this day, I look for a black, cotton knit sweater I’d had for at least 20 years but it hadn’t made the “Kondo Cut”. Grrr, Marie Kondo. Believe me, I don’t mind the tidy undies’ drawer or the neat bundles of socks, and the uber-organized gym clothing bins, but I miss my little black sweater and you convinced me I didn’t need it anymore.
While my friend and I were chatting, it occurred to me how much I really loved being surrounded by all of my things. My claustrophobia is more pronounced in a bare room. This could be part of my issue with things. I love my mountains of read and unread novels. I love my jars of paintbrushes and shelves stacked with blank canvases. I love all of the knick-knacks and doodads I’ve accumulated over the years. I, especially, love my collection of 1960s bridal shower china cups and saucers. I know, I know, I’ve threatened to get rid of them once before, but each one of those sets reminds me of the people who gave them to me. People who thought, “One day she’ll invite an army of genteel ladies over for dainty treats and a cuppa Earl Grey with a sliver of lemon on the saucer.” That’s never happened here in the County, but those cups and saucers once graced my dining table for a “shower” or two when we lived in The Big Smoke. It was the sixties, we did bridal and baby showers. We invited friends over for tea and cookies. We hosted Tupperware™ gatherings and served “tea” after the deals were closed. I’m not sure I’m ready to give those memories. Additionally, I have a motley assembly of “stemware”. Six smoky pieces of lead crystal delivered via the black Birks delivery truck. The stems were nestled in an iconic blue Birks box and I had to sign for them. How swish is that? They were a gift from LOML’s step-sister, my step-sister-in-law, and her husband. How could I possibly bundle those delicate beauties up, along with the original gift card, and send them off to a thrift store where someone would pick them up for a song and turn them into bird feeders, or worse. And while I really do miss the black sweater that didn’t make the Kondo Cut, I do have a black Norma Kamali sweater my older sister gave me in the 60s. I still wear it. It will remain in my possession and, hopefully, become someone else’s problem. Norma Kamali, oh yeah!
Yep, the more thought I put into this “pandemic downsizing craze” the less I feel the need to get on with it. Oh, I’ll happily recycle the worn-out linens, the rusty cake tins and the tatty beach towels. I don’t need three can openers or five nutcrackers, and I certainly haven’t got time for eight cutting boards or the slow cooker that short-circuits the kitchen. But I do believe I’ll donate the hodgepodge of tableware I bought in the 90s and start using the fine china that once graced my mom’s and my mom-in-law’s holiday tables. I may mix the Old Country Roses with the Memory Lane. It’s sure to be something of a sensory awakening. Also, I think I’ll liberate the Mikasa, the Birks crystal and the Waterford flutes next time I crave a glass of cider. Nothing says “The girl has class” like a fancy-schmancy glass. I will bust out the bubble wrap, roll up the Walmart and K-Mart glassware and rush it off to the shelves of V.V. or 2nd T.A. While I’m at it, I will encourage our grandchildren to drink their orange juice from those fifty-year-old Champagne glasses, you know the squatty kind before flutes became the thing to own. I actually wish I knew where the Moygashel linen tablecloths were hiding. I imagine they may be living with the bone china. I’m on a roll now and I think I’ve crossed-over that “eccentric” line. I believe I’m going to put my Norma Kamali sweater on (over my comfies) and pour my water into one of my eighty-five-dollar champagne flutes.
Hey, look! Is that a Sterling Silver Drink Shaker next to another Sterling Silver Shaker? Where’s Angostura Bitters and the cut glass tumblers? I feel a cocktail is about to happen!
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