I don’t want so many things cluttering my house. I want just a few things so that it will look neat and it will be quicker to clean. The challenge is that everything I pick up to throw out or take to Goodwill tells me a story. I remember when I bought it at a special place or time. I remember who gave it to me and how special that person is to me.
There’s the wooden vase that was handmade with every grain of wood displayed to its greatest advantage. There’s the bronzed baby shoes of the man who has honored me with name of “mother.” There are the friendship cards written when our friendship was strong and intimate. We are still friends but now we are in a season when we don’t know the day-to-day details of each other’s joys and pains.
I asked my nephew if he would like the trunk from Norway that was my grandmother’s only possession when she was sent to America at age 16 because the bowl of potatoes was empty before it could make it around the table to all the kids.
I am determined to remove one small basket of things from our house every day.
Why is the field clover that is growing like a weed in a gifted plant from my farmer friend who died last year so hard to pull out? I am treating the weed as precious.
I have been told that my blogs don’t invite responses because I complete the thought in what I write. I don’t’ think this is true of this one.