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No country for old plates

No doubt you’re dying to know how the big move went. You know, the one I previewed in an earlier piece. Hello? I can hear it now: “What the h-e-double-l is he talking about?”

Well, now you’ve gone and made me cry.

The earlier piece where I described selling the old homestead of 30 years and transferring to a condo on the edge of town.

This particular endeavour involved downsizing and lots of it.

Downsizing means throwing out junk, giving away junk, selling junk through Kijiji and leaving junk behind and hoping nobody notices for a while.

A realization developed slowly but grew deeply, and that realization is as follows: people have too much stuff.

One reason I had too much stuff was because my wife never threw anything out. I feel that I can blame her since she is no longer of this world and therefore cannot defend herself.

For example, how many candle holders are too many?

I would say one is far more than enough, but my house contained dozens of these gadgets and along with them, sufficient candles to get one through a nuclear winter and out the other side.

Now, post-big move, the supply of candle holders and their evil spawn (candles) has been trimmed to a more manageable zero.

And dishes. Don’t get me started. Never mind, it’s too late. Dishes need to be changed once in a while.

A person gets tired of picking up his peas off a daffodil and yearns for a chance to pick them up off a triangle.

Fine, but do you have to put the daffodils in a box and put the box in a special place where it will not be unearthed for 27 years?

Apparently, yes, along with many other sets of dishes, some of them flowered, some not, all of them heavy.

So now, in this new place where the floorboards do not creak under the weight of too many dishes and ungodly numbers of little shampoo bottles from hotels and insane quantities of shoes, I can affirm that this slimmed-down life is nice, but the daffodils — I do miss them.

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