The Things We Keep

Decluttering seems to be a fad right now. Everyone is doing it. There’s the KonMari Method, Swedish Death Cleaning, Four-Box Method, 12-12-12 Challenge. My husband and I decided to spend one hour once a week cleaning up one corner of our house. We are using the “Hmm, what is THIS? Should I toss it?” Method. Not proven yet, but wait, friends.

Now, one hour a week doesn’t sound like a lot, but after many weeks and months, and probably years, it will seem like we made progress. I said we, but it’s really I. I told my husband that we would do it, and he’s so agreeable that he said, okay.

We started in our bedroom. (We = I. He nodded.) I began in a random corner where two cracked plastic packing boxes stood. The plastic bags inside were so old that when I touched them, they cracked into hundreds of pieces.

Treasures and Trash

One box held ten old white shirts. My husband said they did not look familiar, but I do not wear white shirts, and truthfully, white shirts all look the same. I washed and folded them and will ask my sons if they need clean white shirts before I donate them.

The other box had a Mickey Mouse back scratcher from Disney World from 20 or maybe 30 years ago. In the what-on-earth department was something that looked like a metal peacock. It’s either a scarf holder or a tie holder. I still haven’t figured it out.

There were ten individually packed wine glasses from the Golan Winery. We got them during Family Vacation umpteen years ago, and I had wanted to give them to the kids right away, but I was afraid their little kids might break them. So I waited. I guess I waited decades. Soon IY"H, I’ll be afraid that their little grandchildren might break them. I’ve kept wine goblets in my bedroom for more than 20 years.

Even stranger than the featherless peacock was a fur-lined bow and arrow set. The arrows have fur on the ends, and they’re beautiful. Can you imagine? A bow and arrow set, in my bedroom, for 20 years or more?

I even found the twinkle tap shoes I wore on 47th Street and Eighth Avenue, New York City, when I danced after work in the 1970s. Were my feet that small? I will bring them to tap tonight and show them off.

But the real surprise was two diaries. I don’t remember writing in them.

One of them, a pretty Michal Negrin pale green and flowery book, is respectably full. I wrote 127 pages of memories and thoughts. I’ve always wondered how people write their autobiographies. How do they remember the conversations? Apparently I did. I just forgot.

The second is a pink faux-leather diary, and I wrote exactly one page in it. But that’s the page I’d like to share here.

Dated 2010

My hair turned totally white on the day that the first shots were fired on Pesagot (October 1 or 2, 2000).

That’s probably a weird way to start a journal, or whatever this is, but the truth of the matter is, I spend half my time wondering if I should color my hair back to the blonde it was for 30 years before, or just saying, forget it.

Yes, half my day, I wonder if I should color my hair, and the other half I try to save the world from all the problems of society.

The latter is much easier for me. I seem to know the answers to all the world’s most complex problems, but the confusion of one woman with white hair before her time seems to stymie me.

This past Shabbat, my granddaughter Shir Tehilla had a guest from China. A very fascinating little girl named Nina, she was about to become nine, but seemed more like 14 in her demeanor and intelligence.

Shiri told me that Nina said I look very young for a grandmother. I thanked her and told her that I look young because I love life AND I tap dance.

Shiri said, “It’s true, Savta. You look very good for 51.”

I smiled very broadly. “Thanks, Shir. I must look really young, because I’m 55!”

I kept the diary. I kept the tap shoes. The peacock is still under review.