Antiques Road Show

Clothes on hangers

I like Antiques Road Show, except when an episode spontaneously appears in my closet.

I have clothes from every size and stage of my life.  This is partially because I hate clothes shopping.  Whoever designed the fitting rooms with their obviously distorted mirrors and brassy lighting has a sadistic side.  Don’t even start me on bathing suit shopping.

Aside from shopping aversion, each garment is attached to a memory and I have a touch of hoarder in my blood.  I never would have admitted that when I was cleaning up my mother’s house after she passed.  Her closets were a comparable archeological dig through layers of living.  At the time I was clear that this would NEVER be me.  Alas, it is.

I have dresses I bought with my father patiently sitting as men do while I sported a variety of options.  This was before the mirrors became unkind and the light wasn’t quite as revealing.  I will never wear those dresses, but the picture they evoke is hard to give away.

I have clogs…yes, clogs.  I think in the back of one closet are bell bottoms.  (I feel cathartic writing this.)

I don’t even remember what’s in the attic.  That will truly be a cobwebby stroll down memory lane.  Some of the people on the real Antiques Road Show find wonderful and valuable things in their attics.  I don’t think I’ll be so lucky.  A close examination up in the attic may demystify where squirrels poop. (Please see an earlier posting :).

If you walk into my house, it looks appropriate, clean and orderly.  But the shadow of memories lingers in obscure places.  Ok… I’ll fess up that I have a sort of mausoleum in my basement with my entire family, two-legged and four-legged, in a variety of urns.  Maybe all of this is why the show Hoarders fixates me.  Sigh… it’s time for a purge!

As my only surviving relative in the next generation, my poor niece doesn’t deserve to be left with it all to sort and comprehend.  Ok, I’m making a pledge to get at this during Spring.  Maybe a dumpster will motivate me…at least one layer?  Maybe one closet at a time?

Remind me if I… (ahem) forget.

With love,

Rosanne

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