The (Un)Importance of Things

Last summer I had a student who mentioned that when he moved to Minnesota he noticed that people here found great importance in things. After having the garage sale, which required that I go through.a house full of things including a lot of my mother's things, I began (hopefully) to detach myself from it all.

Then I stumbled upon a photo Girl-child took at said garage sale and a flood of memories hit me. This was a box of little dolls that I kept over the years. The box was significant too; I had received a corsage from Michael McDonough for a dance I went to in ninth grade - he had written a note on it with good wishes. The brunette doll in the (formerly) white dress was a gift from my brother Joe; I remember how special I felt that he found something just for me. So everything, even the box, was significant. I took it to ARC after the sale. I suppose the photo hit me because I'd finally liberated myself from what was pictured.

Perhaps I mentioned that recently I helped a hoarder move. Or maybe I didn't mention it. But I did. And there was a lady at the garage sale who said, "my daughter better not ever get rid of my Barbie - I'd kill her!" She was obviously just like my mom; saddling her kids with the importance of every little thing. And yesterday, while volunteering at ARC, there was not enough space on the shelves for all the stuff.

It's easier to get rid of things every day.