![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It's been a week of moving things along -- I found a buyer for my stepdancing shoes, put a number of cards in the mail, shredded heaps of ancient receipts and notes, and printed out the customs form for a package to Canada.
I also finally unpacked a tote bag I'd brought home from my mother's back in 2008.
I didn't think to make a list until I was almost done, so it's not complete, but suffice it to say that the jumble stirred up all sorts of emotions. As I prepared her house for sale, I sent most of her sewing and craft supplies to a school that I thought would use them, but these were among the things that I imagined someday using:
* a postal pencil
* long knitting needles
* short pink knitting needles (the ones I used as a child)
* various buttons, hooks, and sewing needles
* thread in basic colors (and one spool of a lime-ish green)
* the leftover lace from an apron I made in one of my high school home ec classes
* a 1995 penny
* a roll of brown packing tape
* a roll of strapping tape
In my professional and volunteer circles, I have a reputation for being organized and decisive. As the long-suffering BYM can tell you, it's a different story at home. I'm slowly paring down the masses of papers and backlog of books, but it's tricky territory. Historian Me clenches her teeth as receipts and notes and photos hit the bin. Realist Me recognizes that what I save will still end up on the curb if I get hit by a bus tomorrow (even the books I've edited and the journals containing my poems -- the BYM is not sentimental in that way). I've been reading the entries at Unclutterer on inherited clutter, and I'm way more self-aware than I was even half a year ago about what I make time for, and what I won't get around to.
But it's still not easy saying farewell to those other selves. Although having company certainly brightens the present:
I also finally unpacked a tote bag I'd brought home from my mother's back in 2008.
I didn't think to make a list until I was almost done, so it's not complete, but suffice it to say that the jumble stirred up all sorts of emotions. As I prepared her house for sale, I sent most of her sewing and craft supplies to a school that I thought would use them, but these were among the things that I imagined someday using:
* a postal pencil
* long knitting needles
* short pink knitting needles (the ones I used as a child)
* various buttons, hooks, and sewing needles
* thread in basic colors (and one spool of a lime-ish green)
* the leftover lace from an apron I made in one of my high school home ec classes
* a 1995 penny
* a roll of brown packing tape
* a roll of strapping tape
In my professional and volunteer circles, I have a reputation for being organized and decisive. As the long-suffering BYM can tell you, it's a different story at home. I'm slowly paring down the masses of papers and backlog of books, but it's tricky territory. Historian Me clenches her teeth as receipts and notes and photos hit the bin. Realist Me recognizes that what I save will still end up on the curb if I get hit by a bus tomorrow (even the books I've edited and the journals containing my poems -- the BYM is not sentimental in that way). I've been reading the entries at Unclutterer on inherited clutter, and I'm way more self-aware than I was even half a year ago about what I make time for, and what I won't get around to.
But it's still not easy saying farewell to those other selves. Although having company certainly brightens the present:
