Should it stay or should it go?

Eight years ago, as I prepared for some major reno work, I went through - and got rid of - a lot of stuff.

I didn't do Craigslist. I didn't do a sidewalk sale. (We don't have yard sales where there are no yards.) I didn't bury stuff in the trash.

I gave stuff away. (Pots and pans that wouldn't work on my new induction cooktop. With the exception of my mother's Dutch over - couldn't part with it. Or my grandmother's cast iron skillet - couldn't part with it.) And I paid the Brazilian junk guys to haul stuff away. (The pullout couch in the den. An ancient and huge air conditioner that we couldn't use in any of our windows, even if we were wired to support its voltage. Which we weren't. The last giant box TV still in use in the United States of America. My husband's pride and joy: a large screen LCD TV that was so heavy and ancient that, even though the picture was still crystal-clear and great for watching sports, none of the guys doing my reno work wanted it. One of them did take the old fridge.)

Still, I hung onto an awful lot of stuff.

It took me until last fall to have the Earthworm electronic recycle guy come to disappear all my old laptops, and a desktop that had been my husband's. Plus miscellaneous routers and other gear. And a ten-ton printer. 

And I still have, for whatever reason, the manuals for every appliance, great and small, that's ever been in this place. More glassware than I could use up if I smashed a glass once a week for the rest of my life. And why did I take all those planters my sister Kath was jettisoning? I do have a basil plant going in the kitchen window, but am I ever going to repot it in that snappy blue planter? Realistically, no.

The other day, my friend K (who downsized from a 5 BR suburban home to a 2 BR urban condo a while back, and did a major winnowing then) and I made a pact to go through our stuff and drive all the stuff we don't want or need to Goodwill. Someone will be able to use those planters.

So I'll be going through all my excess stuff any day now, warbling the only words I know to The Clash's best known tune: "Should I stay or should I go?

I'm inspired by my friend Joyce, who is going through all the closets and drawers in her house. Not that she's going anywhere. She just wants to lighten the psychological load. (Bonus: she's finding all sorts of pictures from our college days. And from our great post-college European adventure.) 

Any day now...

And I'll be doing it on my own, without the services of a professional move manager. 

Still, it's good to know that there are professional move managers out there. And they're apparently in high demand, what with the young oldsters downsizing their big suburban houses. The tweener oldsters downsizing their downsized digs to move into active oldster communities. The old oldsters shuffling off to assisted living. And the post-oldsters shuffling off this mortal coil entirely, leaving their heirs to get rid of their mahogany dining room tables.

Speaking of mahogany dining room tables, I just got rid of mine.

Although I'm trying to get out of acquisition mode and into deaccession mode, in January I decided that I could no longer stand my old mahogany dining room table. Although the table was too damned big, it was the chairs I couldn't stand.

This set - which my husband and I bought about 40 years ago - was from the 1920's. 

Apparently, those chairs didn't like the fact that I hadn't been assiduously polishing them. They were dried out, fragile, and cracking every time someone leaned back in them 

So I took advantage of the January furniture sales and ordered a new dining room table and chairs, which just arrived. And which I like a whole lot better.

Fortunately, I was able to find a good and loving home for the old table and chairs. A friend has a young niece who's recently bought a vintage 1920's house. She and her husband - who, get this, like to refinish furniture - were interested in period pieces. Katie even liked the fabric on the chair seats. Have at it, kids!

Anyway, there are move managers who specialize in working with seniors. They take care of the logistics and other moving details (packing, unpacking) but, of equal importance help folks "cope with the emotional aspects of letting things go." So says Anna Novak, who owns Home Transition Pros in Arlington, VA:

“There are a host of challenges that go along with moving, including family dynamics and the guilt of getting rid of a family heirloom,” says Novak. (Source: Washington Post)

Much of the work of these senior move managers is therapeutic in nature. Jason Suderman is the owner of Lifecycle, in Carlisle, Mass.

“A move manager needs to listen, learn and establish trust with their customers,” says Suderman. “We need to learn where each person’s sensitivities are. Sorting is one aspect of the job, but the dispersal is especially important. What may look like a shabby blanket to you could have important sentimental value for someone and should be handled with care.”

One of the senior move managers' tricks of the trade is not going in there and begin by "sorting items to donate, keep, or throw out." Instead, they start by just focusing on the keepers: what's going to the next place. After that, they may ask the kids and grandkids what they want. Only then do they start having the trash, donate, sell discussions. By then the old folks at home are better prepared for the inevitable decisions about getting rid of stuff. If you've already decided you don't want/need it in your next place, if your kids don't want it, it's easier to get rid of the shabby blanket.

And get rid of it you should. Senior move managers frown on deferring the decisions by boxing up all the left over crap and renting storage for it. 

Anyway, I'm not quite ready to downsize. And fortunately, I don't have a very big place (1,240 square feet) to downsize from. 

Still, I do want to get going on unstuffing the place of the stuff I don't need. And also make some notes on the disposition of my goods, in the eventuality that I won't be there at some point in the hopefully distant future. Mostly, I hope that someone wants the more sentimental attachment items - my grandmother's cookie jar, my other grandmother's sampler, the steer horns that hung in my grandfather's saloon. But do with the rest of the stuff what you will, folks. Other than Sniffy, the worn out little stuffed dog I got for my fourth birthday. When they push my body into the flames, I want Sniffy by my side. 

So w.r.t. Sniffy, he's definitely staying for now. For a lot of my other earthly possessions, it's definitely a case of should it stay or should it go.