Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?

I'm not one who enjoys getting rid of my stuff. I take pride in my pack rat status, which- I resolutely believe I inherited from my Grandmother.
I find comfort in my closets bursting with junk. I love finding old photographs or shirts and smiling at the memories the incur.
Just today I thought to myself, I wonder where I would get sheet music for kids for Evelynn to play on her new piano? Then I remembered, my mom still has all of our piano books from the days we took lessons as kids. Little things like that spur me to hang onto things even tighter.
All of my magazines now are proclaiming that I should dump things out with spring cleaning. But I don't think they have ever felt the swell of the heart when you pull out a sparkly mini dress you haven't worn since your hoochie days in college and your kids eyes light up at the awesome dress up clothes you pulled out of the closet.
Maybe its because I'm an Army Brat. My whole life I tend to cling to things a little to tightly because inevitably I would move and lose half of it. When I got to college and found myself in a place where I knew I wasn't going to have to lose people, I had trouble letting go. Even when I knew they were bad for me. The simple act of telling someone to get out of my life was unfathomable to me at the time.
So now I sit in a house, full to bursting with, for lack of a more refined word, crap. I've tried to contain it with baskets and totes and even space bags. I've weeded thru some of it, given tiny bits away to the Vets or sold items on craigslist for money. I'll probably never part with my Grandpa's rocking chair, which was part of a family set that I recently sold on craiglist. Seth was mad because it was our first "furniture" when we moved out to South Dakota together. Before that it was the fancy set we bought to match the giant TV we got when we moved back to the states my senior year. But that rocking chair is special. After my rhinoplasty, its where I sat in misery as my family members paraded by occasionally stopping to check in on me and bring me food and gifts. It was like my throne. My sad sad little throne. After that we split up the set and gave the chair to my Grandpa. When he went into the hospital my Dad brought it back to me because I offered to use my fancy new steam cleaner to get it nice again. Grandpa never took it back. He died later that month. For a long time it sat in my basement. Partly because that was where the rest of the set was and partly because I wasn't ready to deal with it. Recently, like a bug in my ear, I decided I was ready to have it back in my life. Especially after selling the rest of the set. I had Seth and my Dad bring it upstairs and I recovered it with the fancy microfiber cover I bought to match the nursery. Just in time for Evelynn's first serious fever amd subsequent cold. I have spent the last couple weeks rocking my baby to sleep in that chair and rocking myself as well. Sometimes when I'm sitting in it at three in the morning reading a book and rocking with the snot queen, I sink a little further into the chair and swear I'm getting a hug from my grandpa, who most days, I still have trouble accepting is gone.
So why would I get rid of that? So my kid could have a couple more inches of space to put a basket that will be inevitability filled with junk? Trust me, my kid has the ability to string entire rooms across the house. Just this morning I found my pastry comb inside a bookshelf. I guess the books were looking to cut shortening into flour and asked Evie to get it.
And I don't know how many people I have helped with fancy dresses to wear to parties or end tables for a living room or a foot spa bath for a poor pregnant lady.
One thing I am trying to improve at is better organizing my clutter. But I think that might require a professional. Any volunteers? No? Ah well, I guess I'll see you all on Hoarders!

Love (my junk),
Carrie
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