My relationship with my junk

OK, my life is not all about sadness right now. This past weekend I went out while my family was in church and I walked several miles and took lots of pictures that I posted to FaceBook which is presently down. Here is one of my dog-person. He came over to see the kids in our pet friendly hotel. Tiger said that he went back to her place and slept for 12 hours straight as the kids wore him out!

What is getting to me right now, and I have been told that much of this is mourning, is the junk that I had amassed in my house that all at once I miss but don't want to ever see again. I had rubber stamps, so many art kits. . . what do I actually have time for and what is worth taking up space?

I miss some of my designer clothes that my mom bought me in high school. I have some blazers from the Brass Plum back when it was classy, some J. Peterman outfits that my husband let me splurge on at the holidays, custom cowboy boots and figure skates, that seem impractical to replace. OK, the blazers, yes-- the high necked Victorian blouses that I loved, yes, because they are part of my personal style. My corsets for certain. But do I need custom cowboy boots, riding boots and $300 breeches or $900 figure skates with $300 blades? I didn't use the skates enough to justify the cost! I may as well cost those out. And the breeches-- I can buy less costly ones for my occasional rides-- I don't even own a horse any more!

Last weekend I went shopping and looking at how I will want my new kitchen. I started crying and had to leave. I slept on it and my husband said I was robbing everyone of the fun of this so I allowed myself to try to enjoy it and asked lots of questions of salespeople and customers alike and I brought no one down.

I like minimalist stuff; if we can afford it, I want wood interiors, a Scan-interior look. We may have the house partially unfinished so that I can learn to do things that are reasonable. (One of my friends does rock work and I am going to spend some time with her and see if it is reasonable that I can commit to doing inlays on our counter tops.) My husband says that our house should look more like it's lady. I am slender and attractive, not a lot of fussiness. Intelligent enough to be entertaining, but I am not think-tank smart. I had so many books-- argh! I don't even want them like I had them and if I do, I have to have discreet bookshelves! If I looked like my house did, I'd weigh 600 pounds and be clean, but wear gaudy jewelry. If was how the house got after ten years and I had been in the process of decluttering.

I've been crying over things. I >>know<<< that I shouldn't have run in to get my father's cowboy hats, but I find myself wishing that I had and thinking how I was already in and what trouble would it have been really. . . and of course my cowboy boots and my riding boots were right there. My grandmother's dolls are gone, and the needle point Christmas stockings from my mother are gone!

I had bunches of salt and pepper shakers, one pair that I used to play with as a little girl and I'd make them dance on the dining room table and get married (they were a king and queen) and gosh, they were within an arm's reach in the kitchen when I grabbed my purse!

The other day a friend wanted a book title so I ran between our hotel rooms, I had two copies on a dresser. . . I couldn't find it and it bugged me and then, "Oh. . . it was on my dresser."

I keep coming back to knowing that my family is safe and that we are safe and that we had the added bonus of the old pictures being lightly scorched but OK and that nothing else matters. I have been told that I will mourn the old stuff but find new stuff and ways to occupy my life and space.