Nobody Wants My Stuff

As I attempt to downsize my life, I have been stunned by the fact that nobody wants my stuff. Recycling no longer accepts glass or cardboard. Goodwill has a long list of the unacceptable—electronics, appliances, even a set of still-in-the-package curtain rods. The Salvation Army turned its nose up at my sofa. The library no longer wants books.

Still hopeful, I turned my attention to which of my loveliest things should go to my children and grandchildren. I approached the task prepared with post-it notes and sharpies, ready to bestow gifts upon all my loved ones. I needn’t have bothered.

It’s humbling for a woman to admit that even her children don’t treasure her treasures.

Of the trio of porcelain animals that I bought for my grandmother from the Royal Doulton potteries in northern England, only the frog is coveted —by my six-year-old grandson who just loves frogs.

As for the silver service set, with tray and pot and sugar and creamer, they’d rather inherit my Nespresso.

The wooden blocks and tinker toys, which I have packed and trundled to seven different houses are rarely touched because my grandkids prefer the tubs of plastic bricks.

Other precious things that seem to hold no appeal include:

The first lost teeth, lovingly wrapped in tissue and labeled with the dates of departure.

The treasured finial that adorned my mother’s bedroom lamp. 

Also, the lamp.

They do not covet my buffet or my grandmother’s antique bedroom chair and ottoman. 

They roll their eyes at memory boxes I made for each of them containing baby shoes and bits of wallpaper from the nursery; hand-print turkeys and tortured early attempts at cursive.

The family jewels are mostly faux and have now been relegated to the dress-up box.

Everyone agrees that sterling silver is beautiful, but they have no interest in polishing it. And now, neither do I.  I’ve decided to keep the crystal and surrender most of the silver to the melting pot.

Since interest is low, I’ve begun to use the good china every day, rather than save it for company that never comes. Bone china, it turns out, is difficult to break.  I butter my toast on Minton and serve pizza on Lenox. 

I’ve discovered that breakfast juice, like wine, tastes better when served in Waterford crystal. I stir my coffee with a silver spoon. It all goes into the dishwasher.

It turns out the best gift I can give my family is freedom from as much stuff as possible. I’ll leave them to fight over the legos.