Advice for the Beyond Stage:
“Bless your children by getting rid of your stuff before you go. Or, pay them back for all the torture they dished out to you their first 20 years by making them sort through your stuff, even every last piece, including their artwork from kindergarten and the broken, flowered dessert plate that was their great-great-great-grandmother’s.”
I have a sister who loves the old ancestral pieces. Happily, she has room for them and loves doing the research. Right now, she is tracing a chair from the late 1800s that likely came from our mother’s grandmother on her mother’s side, who, rumor has it, owned a furniture store. However, we never met or heard about anyone from that part of our family tree. Why not? I’m very interested in the outcome of this developing story, but I have just completed my seventh downsizing since 2001, and I only want the story, not the chair.
Ask yourself, “Which am I? (1)Make it easy for the lucky ones who empty my space when I go to the non-physical (still conscious, it is reported, but no need to dust or unload the dishwasher). Or (2) throw the whole mess on my grieving heirs?”
I’m lucky to live in a ‘tiny home’ a few steps from my daughter and her family. Grandkids and dogs come regularly for treats. Those dogs. Where do they hang out at their house?
After our house fire in 2001, I had to buy all new furniture for the rebuilt house. I was fresh with ideas, having just finished my 3-year Feng Shui training. I designed the floor plan, painstakingly selected flooring, paints, appliances, countertops, doors, toilets, every detail. The results were stunning.
I had planned to buy some simple, plain-colored living room furniture for this post-fire house. One day, I took my daughter, who was just finishing high school, with me to wrap up my decision. As we wandered towards the pieces I planned to buy, she was mesmerized by a large, fluffy couch accompanied by a matching extra-large lounge chair and a standard-sized lounge chair. They were French Country style, covered in a flowered print with reds, subtle greens, and browns on a soft, off-white background. “Impossible,” was my internal reaction, but I stared at it, sat in it, contemplated it, watched her enthusiasm for it, and bought it just like that.
The sweet memory of that impulsive decision still lingers. I loved those pieces through two homes, but none of them fit in my house in Delaware. I passed it to my daughter to use in her first Delaware home. Eventually, the couch died from too many dogs and little kids.
In their beautiful, newest home next to my tiny home, the two chairs are surrounded by windows in her morning room, which looks out towards a small lake. She found a cover for the now slightly ragged, extra-large, fluffy chair. Every day, their two dogs nestle into it and joyfully keep track of everyone in the house, as well as the jumping fish and ducks on the pond.
Each time I see the dogs enjoying the comfiest place they could ever imagine, I remember every loving moment of that impulsive purchase.
Hidden treasure of downsizing?
Tangible future functionality for pieces, accompanied by heart-warming memories.
