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Insulation of memories piled high in attic Saturday, Nov 5, 2005 By Micki Bare Every morning I pay close attention to the clothing in which my children try to escape to school. It's November and there is a brisk chill in the air, yet they still slip on shorts and T-shirts and try to forgo coats and hats. Meanwhile, I'm sporting a turtleneck under a bulky sweater, wool pants over thick stockings, boots and a leather coat. And I'm still chilly when I walk out the door. When I stop my children and fuss in my muffled, through-a-knitted-scarf tone, commanding that they go in and put on some clothes, they roll their eyes and stomp back to their rooms to dig for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Then they whine because they cannot find the bottoms of the zip-off jeans that they've worn as shorts for the past six months. Realizing I'm going to be five minutes late to work, I vow that I will find time this weekend to sort through every single article of clothing in the house. I will match every sock. I will re-zip every pair of zip-off jeans. I will box up old and outgrown clothing for the Salvation Army, pack up all the spring/summer clothes and wash, fold and put away all the fall/winter clothes. I will locate every coat, jacket and sweater and hang each one neatly in the coat closet where it belongs. And, before returning to work on Monday, I will inventory gloves and hats and replenish our stock just in case it snows and my children actually want to wear gloves and hats. Unfortunately, it's just not that simple for me. I can find the time, especially because we're currently between football and basketball seasons, so there won't be a lot of running around for a couple of weekends in a row. I can find all of our clothes and sort through every stitch, one article at a time. What I lack is the ability to get rid of things. The smallest pile is always the one for the Salvation Army. Even when my children outgrow things, I find it difficult to part with the first pair of Little League socks, the "I've been immunized!" T-shirt from the doctor's office, every Halloween costume we've ever made or purchased, and tons of other pieces of clothing upon which I've projected some form of sentimental value. Every time I pick up a sweatshirt, swimsuit or miniature neck tie, memories flood forth from the recesses of my cluttered mind. I hug the item, stare into oblivion as images of the past float past my glazed eyes, and then consider my options. I can add it to the hope chest that's so crammed now I can barely close it, start a new box for our already stuffed attic, or have the special item framed in a shadow box and hang it on a wall. Since the hope chest really hasn't been a viable option since the spring of 1998 and I simply don't have wall space for shadow boxes, I always end up running to Wal-Mart for plastic storage containers. After walking up and down memory lane all weekend, I place my clothing memories neatly in plastic tubs. Then I label each with a permanent marker. "Homemade baby clothes - do not give away!" "First sports uniforms - do not give away!" "Special T-shirts - do not give away!" "Miscellaneous sentimental items - KEEP FOREVER!" When my clothing-review weekend ends, the closets are roomier, the drawers are organized, the laundry is caught up, my trunk holds a small box ready for donation and the hallway is completely blocked with containers ready for attic storage. Hubby is charged with actually moving the containers up the narrow attic ladder and into the storage area between the ceiling and roof. "I don't see how I'm going to find more space up here," he states in his cynical way. "There's plenty of space up there. We might need to nail down a few more pieces of plywood for additional floor space, but you can stack things in the meantime," I offer optimistically. "Humph," is the usual reply to my optimism. "And all that stuff up there helps with insulation. We need lots of insulation with the cold weather coming coupled with the high price of fuel." I don't get a response. I decide not to do any clothes shopping for a while. Some people save greeting cards. Others have more photos than can be displayed in a library full of albums. Others would never dream of giving up their knickknacks. I can do without any of those clutter-causing items. But stay away from my precious clothes. ------- Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@earthlink.net. |
