Moving isn't hard. It's deciding what to keep or give to charity that's trying.
A favorite dress. I haven't worn in four years.
The couch with memories.
The jewelry I inherited from grandma, mom, grandma, mom again, but never wear. Sterling silver I never use. And the china. What about the china that's been passed generation to generation for more than 100 years, starting in Romania to New York to San Francisco to Los Angeles? Now cracked and broken platters; my inheritance. And a few lovely pieces. What's a girl to do? Almost every time mom comes down for a visit, she brings me a new broken or chipped platter, bowl or plate, like a parent brings a sick puppy to the vet, in hope the vet will know what to do to fix the problem.
But I don't. Rather I fret about throwing out the broken plates that carried stuffed cabbage from ancestors home to ancestors home. There are still several good platters and bowls I do use, so I may just throw out the broken ones, currently taking up space in my cupboard and brain cells.
And I still wonder about the piano that looks heavier every minute I add up transportation, storage, and the number of stairs in my building to carry it downstairs, costs. Piano movers charge by the step, you know.
There are two kinds of people in this world: the keepers and the get-ridders. I strive to be a get-
ridder, and I believe to a certain degree I'm succeeding. I have an appointment for a local charity to take away several bags of clothes, jewelry, couch, chair and ottoman, and maybe some business paraphernalia like the computer monitor. It feels good to be light. Less is more.
