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P.O. Box 3056

Allentown, PA 18106

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I can’t really, but I’ll still bet that after my last newsletter some of you were thinking "That’s easy for you to say! It’s one thing to turn down someone’s attic junk, but last week my uncle tried to give me an ugly behemoth of a dresser that belonged to his grandfather. Try saying ‘no’ to that!" Probably the rest of you were still thinking about my previous article and were stuck on trying to get rid of an ugly behemoth someone gave you ten years ago.

So to all of you struggling with owning or accepting anything that comes with a good helping of "you’d keep it if you loved your family," I am sharing a similar story from my life.

This newsletter is about compromise.

Namaste,
Colleen Warmingham
Professional Organizer

When my grandmother died, I helped my mother and aunt get her house ready to sell. If you’ve ever done this, you know your relative’s home is full of memories and unrealized dreams. It’s hard. It’s sad. If you’re lucky, it’s also funny and healing.

In some families, it’s a battleground of who gets what. Not mine, thank goodness. Almost as bad, though, we all turn into Clutter Pushers. Everyone has an idea of what would look best in someone else’s home. Currently four generations of stuff is scattered across our homes, and only one child in the next generation. If he’s smart, he’ll stay eight forever.

While cleaning out my grandmother’s kitchen, my aunt found her everyday dishes. The dishes she used to serve her famous homemade chicken soup. In my memory at that moment, I was eight, sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming bowl of soup.

"They’re still in great shape," my aunt said. And they were. "Do you want them?"

Now. Put yourself in my place. Single. Student. Tiny apartment already operating at maximum capacity. Dishes in the miniscule kitchen you like and use everyday. An aunt who wants her mother’s memory preserved. Your own childhood memories. How do you answer?

I’ll come back to this story. But first, let’s look at some cold, hard realities.

So how did I answer my aunt? I suppose my answer foretold my future as a professional organizer. In a heartbeat I considered the size of my kitchen, how much I liked my current dishes, all my memories, and my aunt’s grief. And I said "I’ll take one soup bowl. Let’s donate the rest."

And so the dishes went to the hospice that cared for my grandmother in her last months. And fifteen years later, the soup bowl has a place of honor on the display rail above my kitchen sink.