Stuff is stuff is stuff

My wedding dress sat in a rolled-up ball for seven years.

I had a ridiculously good time at our reception, and that resulted in a soiled and damaged dress. I never saw the usefulness of having the dress preserved neatly in a box. So it sat in our attic for three years, and then when we moved to our new house it had a home in our basement for the past four years. I didn't know what to do with it, but it felt like something I was required to keep.

That was before my siblings and I spent six months cleaning out our dad's house. He obviously felt required to keep many things too. In his basement, I found the butter mints wrapped in tulle from our wedding reception.

There was a picture I had colored and left in his slipper in 1979.

There was the dress he bought for me that I wore in my first grade school picture.

There was the blue sash I wore in a piano recital in 1988.

But there were also decades of newspapers, magazines, bank statements and Christmas cards. There were stacks of eight-track tapes and repaired coffee mugs.

I don't think anything can teach you about clutter better than cleaning out someone else's clutter. Whatever I decide to keep in this house, I am leaving for someone else.

Last weekend, I donated my wedding dress. I knew it was in too poor of condition to be worn again, so it was cut down and is now being loved and worn by little girls unfortunate enough to be staying in a women's shelter in Joplin, Mo. I would say the dress is living a much happier life now. (You can view the dress here)

Cleaning my dad's house not only taught me to part with things, but it also taught me that I don't need to acquire so many things in the first place.

The desire in me to get just the right lamp, table, curtains or rug has started to fade. The feeling of appreciation for the stuff we already own has increased. And the ability to let go is getting easier.

Most of our furniture has been acquired through family. It is old, but it is deep in history. I can look at the coffee table by the fire place and be reminded of my dad. In fact, every room in our house has a piece of our family history in it. It isn't new, and it isn't going to make the cover of a magazine.

But our kids won't throw it away after we're gone either.