Out with the Old?

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.
-- Havelock Ellis


I have heard people say "out with the old, in with the new" all of my life though I do not know where that statement originated...Obviously from someone who had mastered the art this Ellis person talks about above. I am quite sure I've never said it, thought it or dreamed about it. It goes against my nature, you see?

I have been called, many times, a pack rat. I don't know if there is such a thing and am surprised I haven't googled it yet. All I can gather from the name is that it is something (someone) of the rodent nature that collects and gathers and stores...think Templeton in Charlotte's Web...he was one of my favorite characters, by the way. The nickname seems to be said in a not-so-loving way with a bit of a smirk. Don't believe me? Then you've obviously not been privy to the numerous times we've built homes and moved....toting from one attic to another the boxes stuffed with my treasures. It doesn't phase me...the chiding...I just laugh and tell them where to shove the box...in the attic, silly!

Now, mind you, I am not one of THOSE you see on tv or whatever who have constructed pathways through their home to enter and exit each room. You know, piles and piles of boxes that look more like an adult-sized to scale model of downtown NYC? Heaven forbid! NO! So...please erase that vision from your precious little mind. I like a nice, clean house...box-free!

My treasures? Let's see...if the filing cabinets in my memory banks are up-to-date and organized (this is questionable because the employees up there sometimes take an unexcused leave-of-absence and don't call in), there are boxes or tubs that contain items like an empty Barq's rootbeer can that Anthony bought out of a machine for me at Chickasaw Park in the early days of dating, enough penpal letters from high school to reach to the moon and back (some of those guys I'd met over the summers wrote some cool letters! Geesh! AND I still keep in touch with a couple or so), the outfits the kids wore home from the hospital, Halloween costumes that are too small for all of us, letters and mementos from Grandmother, concert and movie tickets, greeting cards from, YES, everyone who has ever sent us one (ok...if I don't know the folks and it was very impersonal, I chunked it), deflated balloons my folks sent to me at high school on my 16th birthday, art and schoolwork both of the kids have done over the years and the very first rose I ever received from a guy (bless his heart...not at ALL my type, but he sent it with a note asking me out on a date, which I declined....What? Sue me! I was a young teen and he wasn't who I was pining for at the time. Gee...wonder what he's up to? He graduated with honors, top of our class....)....Ok....back on track. You see where I'm going with this? And I do actually own a couple or so junk drawers. They are more of a gathering place akin to a holding stall. I put potential keepsakes or "important" items in there and then occasionally go sort through and make the decision of what goes and what stays. Does it look bad that I leave the things that I might hold really dear in a drawer or box in the attic, unseen, and not put them on display downstairs? Hhhhmmm?

Why do I do that, you ask? I have NO idea. I really don't. My mother is pretty sentimental...she is the reason I have tubs of stuff that date back further than me being the one in charge of keeping my stuff. My grandparents are very sentimental. Grandmama sends greeting cards for every occasion, and oftentimes, those cards are enclosed with surprise pictures of when we were young that we've never seen or handkerchiefs our great-aunt carried or comic strips she clips that remind her of us. You think it might be genetic? Like we're missing an X chromosome or something?

But, just a few moments ago, I figured out that my inability to "let go" of things that have some sort of meaning to me, something that ties me to a past memory, carries over into other arenas. Anthony shakes his head when he walks into the bedroom and sees me deeply involved in yet another viewing of Jaws or 'Burbs or Space Cowboys or Poltergeist or, most definitely, Wizard of Oz and Grease...and there are MANY others. He, of course, refuses to watch any of those AGAIN because, well duh, they're old news...we know the ending...they're still just as cheesy maybe. But it really doesn't matter to me. I sit there engrossed JUST like I do when I wander through one of my boxes in the attic. I get totally lost there. Completely. I'm good if everyone would just leave me be at that moment. Join if you like, but DO NOT start nagging or talking over my thoughts and the characters' voices. hehe Is this a bad thing? Does this make me a loser? Does it look bad that I can't seem to let go of the past? Does it even matter? ha

Yet one more thing I know to be true about myself and this aspect of me...I hang onto people with just as tight a grip. They couldn't break away if they tried. I have never thrown anyone out with the trash. I have never walked away and left that box behind. Ever. Granted, some folks aren't brought "downstairs" and put on display in any manner like people who are in my daily life in whatever respect; but they ARE there. They never left. I bet there are several (no, I know there are because I've caught up with a few after years to find them shocked that I remembered so much about them and the time they were in my life) who do not even know they're "kept". I would hope this is an endearing quality to folks. Maybe this would make them smile at my packratedness (I coined a word!) instead of smirk because they understand the ramifications of how that filters down to their WORTH to me.

Know that YOU, once cherished, have not and never will be thrown out with the old.....

(Another one out of my Myspace archives)