Last week I got into a conversation with the volunteer who handles inventory control of the donated samples we receive in our Charitable Pharmacy.
She and her husband sold off their home in Michigan a few years ago, giving (almost) all of their stuff to their kids. Now they lease a small apartment in Oakwood, a suburb just outside Dayton. In the winter they spend a chunk of their time overseas, doing missions work, and in the summer they live in a camper out in the woods.
Although I try not to let myself get too entwined with possessions, I have to admit that the thought of giving away everything was unsettling. I've moved around a lot in my adult life--lots of jobs, a dozen houses or apartments, and we won't even talk about relationships--and having my stuff around me has eased those transitions.
All I have to do at a new place is set out the rocking chair my dad gave me when my daughter was born and hang my mom's plates on the wall, and, voila, I'm home.
But Old Dog and I will celebrate our 13th anniversary in June and we've been in this house for eight years now. We're not planning to change either of those facts, and it occurs to me it may be time to let some things go.
So, on Thursday, I plan to donate some business suits to Clothes That Work, a local organization that outfits women transitioning into the workforce.
Even more daring, on Saturday night when my grand-daughters were over, I culled some things I no longer wear from my closets and let them play dress-ups.
And it didn't hurt a bit.
Maybe next week I'll go after the books....