Four Funerals and a Garage Sale

By Cyndi Seidler
09/15/06

My poor sister. She's got a real dilemma on her hands. It seems she wants to get rid of a lifetime of accumulated stuff but is faced with the pressures of keeping. That's right, keeping.

It has been my experience that most people I have worked with usually face a different kind of inner stress, and it deals with letting go. But, not my sister. She really wants to streamline her belongings in preparation for her move from the Midwest back home to California. Only, some of her things come with a degree of attachment placed upon her by other people.

"Mom and Dad have given me dozens of winter coats as gifts, year after year," my sister began to explain. "Mom still asks about the red leather one! How can I get rid of these at my garage sale?" she asked me.

Knowing full well that these winter coats will be of no use to her here in southern California, she was still faced with the pressure of having to keep them in order to keep peace in the family.

I couldn't help but wonder if our folks would ever really find out that she didn't have these wonderful gifts anymore, if she were to get rid of them. It's not as if they would expect her to wear any of these coats when she visits them in Palm Desert, after all.

"Keep the red leather one and sell the others," I suggested. I was almost afraid to offer this solution in fear that I would have to take blame for selling our parent's fine gifts, but it was a risk I felt duty-bound to take. And maybe they would be forgiving, knowing that it's in my nature to offer these kind of suggestions as a professional organizer.

I somehow knew the winter coats were not the only issue she had to deal with. "What else is the problem?" I asked my sister.

"My huge four-post bed! Mom and Dad bought me this bed with great pride!" she said. "But I don't want to tote that with me all the way to California!"

I knew she had a problem there. "You're on your own there, kid," was all I could respond with.

No-longer-needed-gifts were not the only area where my sister would have hard decisions to make. She was a collector, after all. And I knew that dealing with her memorable past was going to be a different story.

Last time I visited her, she had displays of every odd-shaped rock, bottle and gadget from every "meaningful" place she visited. It was like a show-and-tell junk museum.

I decided to offer my sister some decorating services, and proceeded to group her spread-out collections into more prominent displays. She liked this, and claimed it made the room look less cluttered. And I must say, making clutter look like treasured show-pieces is an art.

We even had funeral rituals for some of her beloved clutter. That's right; parting words were spoken before dumping each past-treasured item into the trash receptacle.

"We had good times, didn't we? my sister said to one object. "I'll never forget you," she said to another thing.

This went on for several objects she inspected, and I felt the sweet sadness of it all. I was actually sorry I wasn't wearing black that day.

Then, there was the case of the re-gifted water fountain; one that she gave to a friend and received it back a year later as a birthday gift to her. We dropped it so it would break in critical places and then tossed it. That way, she could tell her friend, if ever asked, that it broke (truth).

Remembering what it was like going through her things during my visit gave me a clue to what she is going through now, all on her own, without me standing by to share her parting sorrows.

"Oh, my dear sister, please don't fret. A new life awaits you now, and there's plenty more stuff out here to collect in your new future. So, anytime you want a garage-sailing buddy to stock up your new home with, just call."

That's what I'll say to her next if she calls me again about things Mom and Dad gave her.

Copyright 2006 Cyndi Seidler. All Rights Reserved.

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