The truth about stuff

The truth is out. I. Love. Stuff. Gorgeous George does not love stuff. he discourages my fondness for it at every turn.
And, of course, I come from a  long line of hoarders who left me their stashes when they parted company with planet earth. And sad as I was to lose people I loved dearly, I was even sadder to be saddled with carloads full of stuff that had a whole pile of sentiment thrown in on top. To just turf the lot or hand it over to charity seemed like a terrible way to treat my Grandma's stuff. So I kept it.
For many years we had a large house and a reasonably large income, so it didn't matter too much. There was always a mantle piece or bay window where they could be artfully displayed, or at least I like to think they were artfully displayed. But then Gorgeous George and I made one of those life decisions that meant we had to sell our large house and move into a much smaller one - without much in the way of space or storage for people, let alone stuff. Suddenly there was no room for my 1000s of books, patterned china, quaint leadlight cabinets, pot plants, paintings, kitchen appliances and all the rest.
It had to go. So we sold what we could and threw out some more. I reckon we disposed of about 40 per cent of our possessions at the time.
And still we had too much stuff. We couldn't fit our specially designed timber wardrobe in the door, so it sat on the front porch for a few weeks till a friend helped Gorgeous George take it to pieces and reassemble it inside. The tiny dining room and covered back veranda were both packed to the roof with boxes full of stuff for at least a year. Everywhere I looked, there were boxes and boxes of it. During that time stuff went mouldy, stuff was thrown out in council clean-ups, some was gifted to the Babe when she moved out, more stuff was sold on ebay. Along the way we installed a little more storage, mostly in the form of a kitchen with cupboards, at which time I realised much of my kitchen stuff would also need to be relocated to someone else's home or the tip. At least another 30 per cent of our stuff has been disposed of since moving here.
And occasionally, late at night when Gorgeous George and the animals are snoring the sleep of the just and pure, I lie on the couch and fret about the money, time and emotional energy this stuff has cost me. And I promise myself I will never fall into a trap full of stuff again.
I still sometimes have the urge to head out and buy stuff - which is why we have an orange side table that the GG hates and an orange chair that he quite likes - but mostly I resist. I will never, despite my constant dreaming, become a sleek minimalist, but there is nothing like a change of fortune and living in a tiny house to remind you of what is important and what you can and can't live without. What is important is the people you love. Stuff doesn't even get a look in.
So should the Babe and the Geek ever get around to reading this blog, here's a message from your ma. When the GG and I are no more and if there is actually anything left that we haven't thrown out, sold or given away, never, ever feel obliged to hang on to any of our stuff because it was just our stuff. If you love it and enjoy it, fine, if not kick it to the curb.
Then go and spend some time with the people you care about.