Skip to main content

Out with the Old...

I need new. Not necessarily new stuff (although I will always, always consider new shoes), but a new perspective. A new way to see, be, think. I need new like I need cereal and coffee each morning; hugs from my kids; time to myself.

But you can't shoehorn new until you pitch the old. So, in the literal and metaphorical senses of purging, I'm cleaning house.

One of the most satisfying experiences I've had the past week was pitching a minivan full of mementos, duplicate photos and assorted household junk at the dump. I even purged most of the cards we received at our wedding. Not because I'm unsentimental, but because they don't comfort me or give me a sense of history the way pictures or journals do. I also culled my mountain of sympathy cards.

I lost Sean's journal around the time he died, in January. I was heartsick about it, because he'd written of his excitement leading to the birth of our first child, and recorded her milestones for months after. I used the same journal to document Sean's first few weeks in the hospital. Thankfully, I found that brown faux-leather book (or, it found me) while looking through Sean's video gear, preparing an inventory list so I could sell his stuff. Cameras, tripods, lights and microphones provided another reminder of Sean's absence. No one's editing video in the basement, calling me downstairs to watch his latest wedding movie. And now, that corner of the house lies bare, ready for its next purpose. I sold the gear. It's a relief.

I'm also selling the tent trailer we bought just last summer. The 1996 pop-up with the turquoise and pink color scheme seemed just right for our family of four, but it feels like too much work for a party of three. So it'll go the same route as Sean's car: away, to someone whose memories aren't tied to a VW Jetta or a Viking trailer. The buyers can enjoy their new car or toy without thinking, "Sean was once healthy enough to operate this stick shift/set up a portable house."

I hear it's common for widows and widowers to purge; and not just the dearly departed's stuff, either. Nearly everything in my house is getting the, "should it stay or should it go" test (no wonder the kids are clinging to me; they're probably worried I'll try to sell or donate them!). A friend who lost her husband last year told me she tried to purge her spouse's "hippie furniture" in the months after he died. She got rid of all but one piece, which refused to be offed, toppled over and pinned her to the wall. "I decided maybe I should keep that bookcase," she said.

Yes, I'll keep some of the old: pictures, letters, journals, soccer cleats... But I'm making way for new. The clearings in the forest of our home help me imagine a new life. And extra room for a new pair of sandals or two wouldn't hurt, either.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Remove Before Flight

Remove Before Flight “The elevator’s trim, rudder’s trim, mixture’s rich, flaps are at ten degrees…” Pete, the PAHT-nah (partner), is talking through a pre-flight checklist as we wait to taxi from the Tauranga airport. In the nearly 12 months we’ve known each other, Pete’s talked about taking me flying. Now, with my departure from New Zealand less than ten days away, the weather, schedules, and aircraft maintenance have obliged so Pete can fulfill his promise. The sky is overcast, but the cloud ceiling will allow us to fly at 2,500 feet; it’s the weekend, so we’re not competing with flight school students for air time; and there’s a new-ish plane (called FCO, or Foxtrot Charlie Oscar) Pete has enough confidence in to haul what he calls “precious cargo,” which is me. Pete checks the Cessna 152 single-engine propeller aircraft as I watch. He walks the plane’s perimeter, inspecting flaps, wheels, the rudder… He gives me a couple wooden door-stopper-looking blocks (called chocks). “Remo...

Jumping Off a Cliff

 I jumped from a cliff in Oregon last Friday. Actually, I ran straight off. There was nothing unpleasant about that particular patch of grass high above Oceanside. But standing with my feet planted on the ground was preventing me from completing an item on my “bucket list:” flying. Strapped to a harness, an emergency parachute and my instructor pilot, Todd, I launched into my first paragliding experience (for an explanation of what paragliding is, click here): http://discoverparagliding.com/Pages/faq.html#WhatisPG It was glorious. I sat against the back of my chute and felt the wind against my face. I felt birdlike, calm, free. Todd steered over the tops of pine trees and the roofs of houses. I waved to a man on his deck below. I listened to waves crashing against Three Arches rocks and inhaled the salt air. Flinging yourself from terra firma isn’t easy. I could’ve knit a sweater between my knocking knees, I was shaking so much. But the desire to soar triumphed over attachment t...

Leaving Home

Pisa, Italy, 2008 When you’ve seen, felt, even smelled how quickly life as most of us know it can unwind, the phrase, “life is short,” isn’t cliché or abstract, it’s real. So if you’ve ever had a wish or wild hair, you know the time to act is now. That’s why I’m planning to take a big “time out” to travel with the kids. The plan: travel internationally for about a year. World Experience Travel, and opening our door to people from other countries, was part of Sean’s life and mine before we met. I lived in Luxembourg as a high school exchange student for a year, and stayed in the Grand Duchy again for 6 months while in college. Sean hosted a German exchange student, Max, before we met. Together, we hosted a Swiss student, Angi, before we had kids. Anne, also from Switzerland, nannied for us for half a year after Fiona and Finley came along. Sean and I sent ourselves on a belated 3-week honeymoon to Europe in 2001, then to St. Lucia in 2003. After Fiona arrived in 2004, when s...