Cleaning Out and Throwing Away

An old lean-to shed is attached to the back of my house. It was there when my husband and I moved into this house.  It looked decrepit then and it looks even more decrepit now. It is an eyesore.

However, it is on the back of the house, not seen by many, and it has been a handy place to store our overflow of junk. I suspect previous owners may have stacked wood for the fireplace in the shed to keep the wood dry.

Recently, I’ve had my storage building and deck painted and stained. They look quite nice but because of that, the shabbiness of the old shed is even more noticeable so I’m going to have it torn down.

Problem is, what do I do with that stuff shoved inside? In all the years I’ve lived here, I haven’t needed any of it. That’s a pretty good sign that its usefulness, at least to me, is over. Old fishing tackles, a crowbar, a hedge trimmer, a wash tub. The list goes on. These are things that once had a purpose in life but are no longer meaningful to anybody. Too old to be needed and not old enough to be an antique.

This stuff, this junk, comes with unseen baggage that, although invisible, has kept me from throwing it away long ago. It comes attached to a lot of  memories. Unlike the things stored in the shed, the memories haven’t gathered dust at all. And, like a child and her security blanket, I find that I’ve hung onto all of them.

Tomorrow, however, tomorrow I’ll harden my heart and go into discard mode. Just maybe this stuff will be meaningful to someone else and once again have a purpose. I’ll throw away or give away the junk. The memories I’ll keep.