I spent half the day yesterday planning what I wanted to do today; none of it got accomplished. Mind you my day was well spent (as am I at this hour), just not on the tasks that I set out to do. Isn't it funny how Monday seems to be the universal dracula of well intentioned plans? Anyway, I did not want another day to pass without writing something, so here it is.
I'm busy turning the seasonal leaf for three different wardrobes. For LS this is quite simple, for though she is oblivious to style and fashion, she has an innate since of self that allows her to rock whatever you put on her with an undeniable cuteness and air of confidence. PS, on the other hand, has her own unique sense of style, and so because of my wanting to nurture her developing individuality, I try to be sensitive as I pry her favorite articles of clothing from the summer out of her vise like grip. My wardrobe, however, is a different beast all together.
My Nana was a pack rat. She held on to everything. I think it was a psychological manifestation common to her generation resulting from living through or shortly after the Great Depression. Experiencing the loss of so much, and having to make due with too little, made it so that when one acquired something (anything, it seemed in her case) they held on to it, forever. Every nook and cranny of Nana's home was jam packed with goodies. I mean floor to ceiling, from the garage to the attic. We spent our childhood summers with her and it never got old. Every year, every day spent with her in that house was an adventure, a treasure hunt just for us. She was an amazing woman, with impeccable taste, and the talent and ability to create beautiful things from scraps. She taught me to knit and crochet. Though she has been gone for longer than I even knew her, I can only speak of her briefly, because her absence still pains me to the point of tears.
Anyway, Nana must have passed down the pack rat gene to me. I have clothes from high school (before two bebes when I was a size zero) that try as hard as I might, I will never fit into again. But I can't seem to let them go. Clothes, shoes, accessories... they're kind of like music. Just like you can hear a song and it instantly takes you back to a moment in time, certain items of clothing can serve as a mental DeLorean, heralding back times from long ago. I look at a pair of jeans that my daughter can fit into now, remember the misspent youth i enjoyed in them, and I just can't take them off my shelf.
So what about you? Are you like my mother, ridding herself of any excess at very regular intervals (partly so she can make space for new acquisitions)? Or like me and my Nana, holding on to the stuff... and the memories? What do you have a hard time letting go of and why? I'm determined to make space in my closet for new pretties, so I will let go of those unnecessary things. I just have to embrace the fact that the best of my past will always be with me and my future will be even better...