Wondering lately how much my worldly possessions actually mean to me. Right now at this point in my life.

I do not buy tons of clothes, jewelry, shoes, furniture or other stuff. It’s rare I buy things like this at all. I can name on two hands the number of pairs of shoes I own, where I bought them, when, and for what purpose. Only once have I ever bought a piece of jewelry for myself; a small and simple watch with numbers a sweep hand. Only once has a man ever bought jewelry for me, and that was my engagement ring from my last marriage. Clothes are mostly from local thrift stores. The last new suit I bought was for my graduation 10 years ago (along with the watch).
My main expenditures are plants and books. I collect antique books of the agricultural, horticultural, and gardening variety. I never hesitate to buy an interesting looking plant.

Yet my house filled with stuff. Lots of stuff. Meaningless? Hardly. Most all of it passed down from my mother. China, silver, crystal, furniture, antique clothes, linens, jewelry, and pictures.

Just as I am doing on an emotional level, I now feel the need to purge on a material level.

I look at the tea sets my grandfather lovingly picked out for my mother at each important stage of her life. High School graduation, acceptance into Nursing School at 16. Graduation.
The white kid leather gloves from my Great Aunt. A professional dancer.
The Christmas ornaments I hang every year. One in particular handed down through five generations of women. In time, it will go to my only daughter.
The hand carved rocking chair that came from France with my great grandmother.
The log cabin quilt hanging in my bedroom she made for my Grandfather.
The hankies, neatly packed away that my grandmother and her sisters swiped from the factory during WWII.
And jewelry that belonged to Grandmothers, Great Grandmothers and Great Aunts. Many are garnets, my birthstone. There is more. Much, much more.

I look and I remember. Images, sounds and smells flood my mind of times past. But do I need these things to remember those events, those people who shaped my life? Certainly, I will never forget them should I get rid of all this stuff. Stuff that sometimes clutters my mind with pain of their long gone presence, clutters my space, and binds me here and in the past. Slices of history. Slices of me.

I need to pare my life down. Live with more simplicity. So what would it mean and what would it accomplish for me to pack it all up? Put it in storage. Give it away. Move to a smaller place. Start again. New, fresh, clean. Will I remember less? Less often? Does it even matter…all this stuff?