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emotional furniture

Saturday, June 12th, 2010 by

We all know about emotional baggage.  (If you don’t have any yourself, then those old Kodak Moment commercials must have actually rung true.)

I’m here to top that idea with emotional furniture.  Bigger than baggage, often uglier, and generally likely to hold more—more stuff, more emotion, more sense of how-could-you-get-rid-of-me.

Two pieces have traveled the country with me, from Wauseon, Ohio (yes, it’s a real place), to Boston, Massachusetts to Alabama, Georgia, and California.  But the trip stops here.

As we clean up our California rental house in preparation for the move to our North Carolina rental house (in preparation for finally building A House Named Fred), we are shucking the unnecessary stuff, and finally I’m ready to chuck these things.  One is a solid cherry secretary that was…my mother’s?  My grandmother’s?  I don’t even know, which makes it that much sillier that I’ve carried it around all these years.  Same with the hutch.  Neither of these things matches the style we’ve come to love, of clean simple lines and contemporary sensibilities, and both of them tie me to unhappy memories.

So they’re going to the Salvation Army, along with the bedroom set my mother gave my ex-husband and me for a wedding present which has sat in our guest room for years, now, mostly unused.

There’s a freeing feeling to getting rid of old stuff you never really liked anyway.  Especially when it’s in preparation for building a dream.

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