Musings on downsizing: particularly, heirlooms

Last November/December, my husband and I downsized from a row house into a two-bedroom condo.  I had so (SO!) many thoughts about this process, but at the time I didn't write much of that down because I was of course completely overwhelmed with doing the gazillion tasks with purchasing the new place, getting the row house ready for sale, and of course, downsizing.

(There was also the fact that I was getting ready for a surprise job that landed in my lap at the same time, but that's a different story).

At any rate, here I am 6 months or so after moving, and thinking about the aftermath of downsizing, and I have to say: thumbs up all around. I am happy to be in this compact space with things that I truly love around me, and also without nearly as much baggage to deal with lurking in storage or taking up space on shelves, getting in the way of those things I love.

In fact, one of my goals over the next few years -- once I finish up the surprise job that plonked down on me for the year -- will be to sort through about 3 or 4 bankers boxes of ancient family memorabilia to organize it, digitize it, and then get the physical copies the heck out of here.  These are boxes that I inherited from my grandfather, or that were sent me by distant relatives, all of whom knew that at the time I was interested in family history.  But the family history isn't nearly as compelling when it's packed away in a disorganized jumble in banker's boxes.

All this is to say, downsizing many other heirlooms was one of the things I am super glad I did before we moved (although some of these things hadn't exactly achieved "heirloom" status; I'll use that term because I'm not sure what else to call them).

I went through boxes and boxes of photos of my kids, sorted them out by who's who, and mailed each pile off to the appropriate kid.  I included a note telling them they were welcome to save the photos, share the photos, or toss them:  better to have that choice now than several decades from now, I figure.  

I took photos of the stuff in my home that I thought might have sentimental value for my kids, and asked them to let me know if there was any of it they might want to have now or someday.  There was actually very little of that.

As a side note, that's one of the aspects of "stuff" that my friends complain about: their parents insist on saving/storing/hoarding stuff because "you're going to get this someday", but it's things the kids don't want: furniture that's bulky/fragile/impractical, dishes that require special care, clothing or decorations that come from another era . . . even when the kids insist they won't want it, the parents insist they should.  My friends tell me they dread having to go through their parents' homes some day.  Meanwhile, the more stuff from our row house that we gave away or re-homed, the more my children said, "Thank you", because they won't have to deal with it themselves. 

And on the flip side, if the next generation really is going to appreciate something, there's an argument for letting them do so now.  If I live as long as my dad did, my children will be geriatric by the time they'll be reading my will together.  I'd so much rather they get to enjoy the things that delight them while they are still at the stage of building their own memories, and for those that have children of their own, while their kids can appreciate the stuff, too.

There's also this: inheritance drama can be real.  My sisters and I are a delightedly unified front, but my dad's second wife, who outlived him, has decided she doesn't want us anywhere near her home.  There are small things my dad left behind that I would love to have: his childhood photo albums and the albums from our own childhood, for example, so I could include those in my heirloom project.  There's a teddy bear I made him when I was in high school.  My sisters have their own wish-items, I know, of things that his wife doesn't want but is keeping nonetheless.  Maybe someday after she passes, we'll go through the home with her children and get access to those . . . but what a ghoulish, uncertain way to think about those things that would otherwise give me warm, fuzzy thoughts.  The whole process taints the memories that come with those objects.  That is nothing that I would wish upon my own heirs.

In the meanwhile, I'll just return to the fact that it's lovely to have a home space where I get to see things that I enjoy seeing, and where (most of) the things that I had been hanging onto because I think "my kids will appreciate this someday" don't have to wait for "someday" to be appreciated: I've already sorted those out and passed them along.

Tiny toys in tiny bags

 Here are (almost) all of the tiny bags I bring to church.

My sister made tiny drawstring bags that she used as gift-wrapping, and that started my collection.  After a while, I decided to switch to using up my stash of rescued zippers, and I love how they look like teeth once I add eyes drawn with a sharpie.  The zippers are much easier for small fingers to manipulate, too.

And why do small fingers matter?  Because this collection of tiny bags contains tiny toys.  I carry these bags to church, and pass them out to the children sitting in pews near me.

A toy in a bag is much more interesting than just a toy, and the kids have come to love the surprise of what comes in this week's bag.  I almost always get the toys back at the end of church: there used to be a matchbox car among this collection, but it apparently has driven away.

It's very easy to make these tiny bags, and now when I happen across a nifty tiny toy in a free box or such, I snap it up to add it to the collection.  I don't know who likes this collection more: the kids who play with them, the parents who mouth big "THANK YOU"s to me, or me!

Second-hand compliments: even better than first-hand ones!

Like many people I know, I try to remember to thank people for what they're doing: our department coordinator, the department chair, the people that clean our building or organize the behind-the-scenes computer systems. 

But here's a twist that I've really been enjoying: it feels even more meaningful when I get to pass along something that someone else was saying.  Like, the other day, I was talking to someone who I'll just call "Amy" here, and I mentioned a compliment someone else gave her: "I was over at the registrar's office, and they were talking about how they asked you for help with pre-commencement work because you're so good. They said, 'Amy's the bomb'."

And Amy paused, and then told me how much she needed to hear that: she'd just applied for a position that would have been a kind of promotion, and got passed over for it, and hearing that she was valued meant a lot at that moment.  I think the compliment felt all the more real because it wasn't face-to-face.  I mean, we're supposed to be nice to one another in person; it's a whole other level of compliment to know that people are saying good things about you behind your back.

One of the passages from the Bible that has struck me comes right after Jesus is baptized, and God says to those hanging around: "This is my beloved Son, in whom I take great delight".  What strikes me about this is that the introduction isn't about the role that Jesus takes on, but about the interpersonal relationship. 

After I read this, I started trying to introduce people I know that way: instead of "this is X, who runs with me," but "this is my dear friend X, who makes my life better by keeping me active"; "this is my one of my favorite pew mates; she always makes me smile"; "this is my inspiration as a department chair; we all know we're in good hands with her." In other words, I try to not just say who the person is, but who they are to me.  I love how much that seems to touch people.