Spring-Cleaning

Holding On and Letting Go

Standing back to admire our new kitchen appliances, I notice the sharp contrast between the shiny stainless steel and the rest of the smallish kitchen. Although only the essentials remain on the countertops, they now look cluttered. The kitchen cabinets, already on the “to be painted” list, look even dingier.

An organizer at heart, I began to reimagine the pantry and cupboards, opening drawers and doors to take inventory of what has been hurriedly stashed and what is actually necessary – especially if I’m serious about minimalist living. I consider Andy’s quiet question, “Do we need all the teacups and saucers in addition to the coffee mugs?”

Seeing my brow beginning to crease, he quickly adds, “I’m not saying throw them out. Maybe they can just be stored since we rarely use them.”

He has a point. I’ll think about it.

I carefully curate the pictures and magnets that I return to one corner of the fridge. The remaining items, previously displayed lovingly, go into a bag for later consideration. I rearrange tea baskets, coffee containers, cooking spices, and utensils.

With the week’s temperatures hovering around seventy degrees, spring-cleaning is calling me to action. Compelled to tackle the storage room, I put the kitchen clutter situation on hold. I open the door to the “stash and dash” room that hid holiday secrets. Taking a deep breath, I dig in with a vengeance.

I reorganize and purge boxes and scraps of wrapping paper. I sort through clothing previously cleared from the primary closets and schedule an appointment with our local thrift/consignment store. I move shelves and take items to the recycle bins.

And then I pause. Amidst my crafting and sewing supplies, I come across the old cookie tin. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it. I inherited it when my godmother died nearly seven years ago. It contains items she rescued from the final cleanout of my grandmother’s home thirty years before.

I carefully review the items – two pairs of baby shoes, an assortment of thimbles, a tarnished baby ring and bracelet, a tiny pearl baby necklace, and blue rosary beads. I don’t know their origin stories, which were probably lost with my grandmother’s dementia, if not before. I tuck them in another Christmas tin with a lid. They don’t take up much space so I find a new spot among my collection of vases and candlesticks.

I think of those storiless heirlooms, holding on to their secrets. Once upon a time, they were important. I wonder if they belonged to my godmother, my mom, or another of their six siblings. Perhaps they commemorated precious beginnings. Did my grandmother feel love for her babies when they first came into the world? When did the tenderness turn into emotional neglect and physical abuse?

Did my grandmother save the items or did my gentle, silent grandfather hoard the memory of tender days? My godmother kept these mementos – symbols of birth and the intensity of hope. And so, I will too. For now.

As I ponder my spring-cleaning decisions – what to pack, save, or discard – I realize it’s not just about the physical stuff. It’s about their symbolic meaning. As I determine what to hold on to and what to release, I’m simultaneously sorting and clearing the clutter in my head and in my heart.

As time moves forward, I can gently release forgotten gifts and items from my previous life. Letting go of wedding gifts and old photographs. Letting go of religious relics that symbolize beliefs that don’t serve me. Letting go of professional files and books that no longer represent who I am or what I do.

But I’ll allow myself to hold on to the baby shoes for a while longer. I’ll pack up some teacups and saucers to create more space. But I’ll hold on to them, too – for now.

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With loving wishes for holding on and letting go,

Amy