Bryan and I have always been minimalists. We both grew up in standard midwestern U.S. homes in the 1970's and 1980's. That means the houses were cluttered full of decorations and mementoes of cherished events. Sorry, Mom and Dad, but that's what it was! It was a lovely way to grow up, surrounded by happy memories. But as adults, we both feel more comfortable in decidely spartan rooms. I like having a few things on the wall, but there are no framed photos on coffee tables in our house. We don't collect anything other than spices. We idolize function.
When we got married, a friend from England decided to come for the ceremony and asked what he could bring us. I told him to bring us "something English and functional." When he arrived with a set of six crystal wine glasses, I teased him about forgetting the "functional" part. He laughed at me. "They're for wine, Anne," he said. "Use them." "I suppose that if we break one, it will be an excuse to take a trip to England," I replied. So we used them. Thirteen years later, we still have five of them and use them a lot.
I don't want to get all "life is to short to not use the good China" on you. But I need to, so bear with me. I have always hated the idea of having a useful item that is unused. I don't understand why you would buy a centerpiece for the dinner table and never light the candle. I don't get the concept of "don't touch the guest room towels!" I will never give a gift unless I assume the person will use and enjoy it. So wear the perfume, drink from the crystal and wipe your hands on the pretty towels!
Now, on to the salad spinner. As we contemplate this move, we need to go through every single one of our belongings and put it into one of three categories: bring, store or pitch. We have discussed bringing only what we can get into two large rolling suitcases and four carryons. So the "Bring" group is going to be the smallest, most well-thought out set of clothes and personal items known to humankind.
The "Store" group is the trickiest. If we do this trip as planned, we will be gone for at least a year, perhaps two. Take a look at the things in your bedroom through those eyes. What do you have that you will still want in two years? A better question is: What do you have that you will truly need in two years? The answer, for us, is "not a whole helluva lot."
Whatever we store, we will store in clear plastic bins in my mother's basement. I feel the need to make this intrusion as small as possible. So things like books (which we have never really collected anyway) really need to be minimized. Photo albums, mementoes, files and records all have to stay, of course, but things like our CD collection (when everything's already been uploaded into Itunes) and most of our clothes need to go. These days I walk around my house seeing invisible tags on everything. Ebay, Craigslist, Sell to Friends, Garage Sale, Store at Mom's, Bring to France, Sell to Bookstore.... Everything has a label, in my head. The interesting part will be discussing Bryan's labels for the same item.
The "Pitch" group is easier, but more painful. The human instinct is to become a pack-rat. We bought all this stuff, brought it home and now it's ours. Why should we part with it? Someday, somewhere, there will be a use for it, right?
Which brings me to the salad spinner. I bought it a few years ago at Crate and Barrel for $20 or $25. It's a plastic bowl with a colander inside that spins when you push a button. You throw in cleaned lettuce, spin it and voila--you have a beautiful, dry salad. Somehow I felt the need to answer the age old, "How do I get this lettuce dry without shaking it?" question with a $20 piece of plastic. I'ved used it twice. I'll probably sell it for $5 at a garage sale. Not a great return on my investment.
But that's the wrong mindset for this type of activity. I can't see my belongings in terms of what I paid for them and the value I got from them any longer. Now they are just problems to be solved. I need to get rid of them and any money I make or friends I make happy by giving them away, well, that's just gravy.
Anybody want an electric corkscrew?
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