My parents are pack rats. The Targo's parents are pack rats. We? Well, we try so hard to purge, like all the time; if for no other reason than to rebel against our heredity. Take THAT clutter gene! You must know this before I tell you this story.
When I got home on Sunday night, I entered a spic-and-span house. The Targo, it appeared, had spent the entire weekend cleaning. It was gorgeous, amazing, and I immediately covered him with kisses. And then, he showed me the pile of boxes.
The Targo: "Those are your boxes. See? "Marianne's stuff." You get to sort all of that."
Marianne: *Dumb stare ... picks up cat and walks away*
Despite my attempt to remain deaf and stupid, I will eventually sort through those boxes because, as The Targo said, "In January, we want to bring our baby to our home." Right now, our place still has the look of transient housing, which is mostly my fault.
We did purge a great deal before we moved. Some of the things I sent to charity or the trash actually hurt my heart. But, there's one thing that I absolutely don't need and has absolutely no value, that I just cannot bear to part with: My college guard jacket from college. Yes, I've mentioned before that I was a flag/rifle girl in high school and college (you know, in the marching band). My college years were so much fun that every time I look at that jacket a smile crosses my face and some nearly forgotten memory resurfaces. I love that jacket. I haven't worn it since 1999, perhaps 2000. The silkscreen is peeling, the logo is ugly, but that jacket? It almost feels like a definition of my college years. And those four years forged the person I am today so much more than most of my formative years. I can't let them go.
And, despite our desire to declutter, I can't and won't let that jacket go. If The Targo asks me about it? Well, I'll just pick up Magic and wander away, muttering like a crazy cat lady.