stuff

We used to love “Antique Roadshow.” And we dreamt of selling our leftover “shit” in retirement. BUT NO ONE WANTS OUR SHIT!!! And I mean NO one.

(I am using “OUR” shit loosely and including all of your shit as well. NEWSFLASH: No one wants YOUR shit either!)

About ten, fifteen years ago, my husband and I were selling our stuff that we did not want anymore. We had odds and ends collectibles – vintage paper collectibles. The money we made at tag sales and on eBay paid for our vacations. We went to Europe and emailed our daughter to tell her which items to post. We laughed, enjoying our time on the Mediterranean coast.

And in retirement, we thought we would continue to sell off whatever was left, including my beach paintings, and continue to have fun. I even blogged about decluttering and was invited to talk on a local tv show about what to do with all our stuff.

We have gone on eBay in the hopes of selling our “shit.” I used to knit. I bought expensive knitting needles. I have a ton of them. I put them on eBay. Not a bid.

Vintage postcards that should decorate vintage themed homes. Not a bid.

Old stamp collections. I looked on eBay. No bids. Old baseball cards. No bids. Silver dollars. No bids.

Unique and pretty costume jewelry. No bids.

I am scratching my head in disbelief wondering WHY no one wants our shit.

And instead of asking To Declutter or Not To Declutter?, I am asking To Throw Away or Not to Throw Away?

Please share your thoughts by commenting.

The thing that got me started thinking about my “stuff” was a conversation I had with a complete stranger while we were standing on line at the Marriott in Birmingham, AL. I was there visiting my step children. Out of the blue, the woman in front of me on the line for breakfast omelets started telling me that she was in Birmingham to clean out her mother’s estate. She could not believe how much stuff she had to go through. She said she wished that her mother had given her a manual full of stories because she could not fathom the reason behind the items. What did they mean to her mother? To her they were just junk. She could not make heads or tails out of the clutter and she did not have the time to go through all of it. She had to get back to Texas to work.

When we got home, I looked around my tiny beach cottage home. I saw all the paintings that no one will be able to store even if they wanted to. I saw my furniture through the eyes of my daughter and step children. I have Ethan Allen traditional pieces alongside garage sale chic. Every item has a story. But who had time to tell the story and who had time to listen?

And besides, the adult kids all want West Elm. They aren’t interest in our stuff.

randomthoughtsfromthe60s

aging – kicking and screaming

NO ONE WANTS OUR SHIT

ETHAN ALLEN vs. WEST ELM