We took the summer off here at Cowtown Minimalist. Life dealt me some rodeos, and I had to keep trying to stay on for eight seconds. Suffice to say I didn't break any bones, but I got bruised and battered some.
One of the rodeos involved an emptying of my Dad's house. He died in November 2014, and we had finally gotten it on the market and ready to hand over to another owner. Which means it must be emptied. Cleaned out. I discovered that he had probably not recycled, given away, or tossed a book in 50 years. He had college textbooks, photo books of his childhood home's mountain ranges, and many volumes of rare books with carefully cut dust jackets. Many were cataloged in meticulously ordered hand written cards. Almost all were stacked neatly and arranged by author and subject. But there were hundreds. Thousands, maybe?
How do you minimize books? I had to be brutal. I mostly knew which were valuable, both emotionally and monetarily. Daddy had written a number neatly in pencil on the fly page of each that was cataloged. I remember authors' names leaving his lips throughout my life, so the ones that meant something to me were packed in small, lift-able boxes. The others? Gifted, sold, donated. It was hard.
The house has new owners now. I hope that they fill that wall of built-in bookshelves with meaningful books and not junk that has to be dusted -- cheap remnants of a cruise ship pit stop or perhaps a glass rhino collection. The new folks probably don't read my blog, so sadly, the shelves will likely bear the burden of clutter.
Just as I was brushing the dirt from my boots after surviving THAT rodeo, my son was navigating his last summer at home. College bound. Nest-leaving. Wait -- another life event already?
Nothing says minimalist like sharing 250 square feet of living space with a kid from Houston that you haven't even met yet. My children have been fortunate in not having to share a bedroom and each having his own bathroom. And now, Boy #1 is deciding which of his worldly goods will accompany him to Haas Hall Room 214.
As he is, in fact, a boy, THAT clears up a lot of questions right there, as to how much crap goes with him. He will NOT take any stuffed animals, or framed photos of loved ones (save for his pretty cheerleader girlfriend who still is in his hometown), or remnants of high school successes. He is far more concerned about the resolution of his new graduation present TV and how fast the internet service is in the dorm. But we will still give him survival tools.
What makes me happy to see in my minimalist offspring is that he feels that as long as he has some basics, he will be fine. There is a Walmart in his college town, and also a Target if he is feeling REALLY high-end. Any necessity can be acquired fairly simply. But he sees that it is the EXPERIENCE that matters now. Not being trapped in the clutches of stuff from home. Wandering around your new town, your new campus, seeing new people. Your very OWN room key on your lanyard key chain hanging from the pocket of your basketball shorts (a standard look for athletes, I believe).
It's an adventure. Which can only truly occur of you're not trapped in a quagmire of crap and clutter. Sure, the thought of his drawers being left open with clothes dripping out while he trots off to chem lab will disturb my mental equilibrium, but it's HIS minimalist life now. Perhaps he will acquire some books to savor along the way (but not TOO many...).
Godspeed to my College Minimalist. You're well-equipped, my boy, both in knowledge and in closet organizers. And your mom is in the chute awaiting her next eight second ride...
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