We're Not Just Decluttering, We're Sharing Memories

It has been a pretty emotional couple of weeks. As the summer season began, we’ve been taking advantage of yard sale season, participating in several community and local sales to declutter our home and share some of the treasures we’ve collected over the years. As we were sorting through household stuff, decorative items, collectibles, music and clothing, nearly every item brought back a flood of memories.

By nature, much of what we amass and hold onto are things that have been passed down from our parents and grandparents, and we keep them for years not wanting to let go. But there comes a time when they need to move on. It becomes time for someone else to enjoy them.

Last week also coincided with what would have been my mother’s 88^th birthday and my mother-in-law’s 104^th birthday, and with Mother’s Day not too long ago and Father’s Day coming up, it became harder and harder to put things on the sale tables.

It was heart-wrenching at times with the heartless bartering -- “Would you take fifty cents for this?” or “I’ll give you a quarter for that.” How can people be so cold and cruel? Don’t they realize these items represent lives and memories?

Then I remembered that I may have done that myself at yard sales sometimes in the past, so it certainly changed my perspective.

And then there were some people who treated each item with reverence. Understanding the stories behind the items and even asking to hear the background.

Retelling about mom’s life as a performer, and how she dressed up every day of her life. Or about the sewing machine she used to make costumes she wore performing in talent shows.

Or the records with songs my grandmother and grandfather used to sing (badly) around the house. Or the toys we played with as kids, Or the decorative pieces and trinkets we picked up traveling – each one a memory.

Memories of grandma taking me to see the Empire State Building because I love the (original) King Kong movie, or grandpa taking me to Coney Island to try to win prizes on the boardwalk.

Or how we used the cassette duplicator to make demo tapes to send out to venues when my wife and I managed a band.

People listened intently, wanting to hear the stories.

One young girl and her mother asking about the little booklets called Port Guides from the late 70s and early 80s that I used in the Navy to educate my fellow sailors about customs in various ports of call.

Another fascinated with colorful pieces of vintage costume jewelry.

The 1939 World’s Fair ashtray my grandfather used. A dinosaur-shaped telephone that could be set to roar as well as ring – and that I forgot to warn my wife about that when I set it up.

And the fur coat mom bought for herself to boost her self-esteem after her divorce.

So hard to let these things go.

But such an uplifting experience to know that the memories will live on as each person took with them, not just the items, but the stories behind them that they will retell.

We had several people visit our yard sale who remembered our stories from previous years and told us how they retell those stories when people ask about items they bought from us in the past.

Overall, it has been a beautiful experience, sad in some ways, uplifting in others. And freeing as we continue to declutter the physical environment and share the emotions and memories. 

A big thank you to those who helped us ensure these memories will continue to live on, bringing joy for others.

Call me Naive

Someone called me "naive" the other day.

Perhaps in some ways that may be true.
But in my naivete, I work to protect the innocent, the underdog, and the repressed from the selfish, the bullies and the bigots.

Maybe I can't make a difference in the world scheme of things, but, being naive, I won't acknowledge that and will keep fighting for what I've been taught was the right way to treat people.

Maybe, being naive, I can't see that helping one person among the billions of people on this planet, it may be unachievable to change the world.

Maybe.

But also, maybe that naive persistence will strike fear in the selfish, the bullies and the bigots.
Fear that I might be right.
Fear that maybe I can make a difference after all.

And maybe that fear will cause some of those selfish bullies and bigots to feel they need to lash out and call me naive.

Okay.
I am fine with that.

Join me in my naivete. Let's work together against oppression, discrimination, meanness, and intolerance.

If each of us just helps one other, imagine the impact we can have together. 

Maybe I can't save all the starfish that have been cast from the sea all by myself. But I can toss them back in one at a time.
Wanna help me?

hashtag#shareyourfire
hashtag#leadership
hashtag#tolerance
hashtag#kindness

"Meep! Meep!"

 

Right now, it may seem as if we are poor Wile E. Coyote, doomed to fail at every attempt to be successful. All the plans and preparations we have made for our careers and our future, our health and happiness, seem to be blocked, sidetracked, or foiled, and the light at the end of the tunnel is inevitably an oncoming train.

No matter what Wile E. attempts to do, he is always ultimately ineffective and unsuccessful. His target, the Road Runner, is always completely unscathed in the end and never truly gets disrupted by all of the Coyote’s shenanigans.

What defeats Wile E. are the lack of logic, common sense, compassion, and dignity. 

And the Road Runner always wins because he refuses to even acknowledge the craziness caused by the Coyote.

No matter how it may seem, WE are not Wile E. Coyote.

We are, and must be, the Road Runner!

We must continue on our path, not be distracted by the insane attempts to destroy us, and perhaps, even be the driver of that oncoming train and foil the plans of the Coyote.  

Image ©1961 Chuck Jones, “Zip n’ Snort”