|My old waterbed turned into a hall shelf,|
filled with pots I made and other stuff
Like many women, I have a variety of sizes in my closet as well as some sentimental items. I'm keeping 'em. I'm entitled. Someday one of my granddaughters might like to wear or make something from my old wedding dress or cuddle up to my mother's old faux fur coat.
My office has an enormous selection of pencils, pens, clips, and other stationary items. They make me feel rich. I love that I have filled three cubbies with things I have written. I love my old typewriter though my electronics have replaced it functionally. My old typing stand was given to me by an old friend, now long dead. Pry it from my cold, dead hands!
My pottery, made in the days before nerve issues disabled my arms, is the tactile evidence of a lifelong dream. I'm keeping those pots and my tools. I don't expect a miracle but I invested more than money in this. I invested time and love and competence. All things clay, stay.
I live alone in a three-bedroom house that can sleep seven. When my daughter's young family was out on the street due to a fire, they lived with me. My elderly mother lived here in her last years. One daughter moved home to get another degree on the cheap. This house has provided a roof to two homeless women in desperate need and to numerous cats and dogs - not all mine - who needed shelter. Why would I get a tiny house after all that?
I wear the cast-off shirts from old friends and lovers and feel at home in them. My grandchildren bring their toys here when they are no longer welcome at home. You can get rid of anything you want, but I like my stuff and I'm keeping it!