Keepers

Two feather pillows from Sam’s Club that were unbelievably cheap for a reason.

Boxes from an iPod, wireless router, and camera.

An Eddie Bauer inflatable mattress that flat out refuses to inflate.

And three ginormous garbage bags full of crap that I can’t be bothered with remembering.

For some reason something snapped on Sunday and I needed to start Spring-cleaning a little early.
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I married a keeper.

I discovered this nine years ago, barely a month into wedded bliss, when Jim threatened to call a lawyer after I threw out an old coffee can full of rusty nails that had (who knew?) sentimental value.

Yep.

Since then, I’ve learned to keep my pesky little hands off his crap.
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“What’s in that bag at the bottom of the steps?”

I could tell from his voice that he was anxious I might be getting rid of some precious, useful item that we haven’t thought about, let alone needed, in five years.

“It’s that uncomfortable mattress topper thingy we don’t like,” I reply.

I can tell this mollifies him only mildly. He glances over, itching to open it.

I drag the remaining bags out to the garage, knowing he’ll play CSI: Aurora before taking them out to the curb for the garbage truck that rattles through around 9 a.m.
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I am not a keeper.

If it hasn’t been used in more than a year, it goes to Goodwill or the garbage.

It’s not that I’m not sentimental (well okay, maybe it is, just a little.)

But it’s mostly that I’m not sentimental when it comes to most things.
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I learned about my sadly un-sentimental status while cleaning out my parents’ attic in the early 90’s.

My brother Eric and I pulled practically everything from the attic, sorting it in piles on the garage floor.

His pile: Star Wars. Matchbox cars. More Star Wars.

My pile: Barbies. Books. And the prized Mrs. Beasley (“Do you want to hear a secret? I know one!”)

I grab a large black case shaped like Darth Vader’s head from my brother's pile and pop it open. I don’t know what I expected. But I couldn’t believe my eyes: Dozens of pristine little action figures who hadn’t seen any real action in 15 years. They were clean, organized and – get this – labeled, with every little dude from Boba Fett down to Yoda in his proper place.

Next, I pry open my own black case: A shiny vinyl thing with bright and smiling Barbies on one side.

Expecting at least the same order and organization as my brother’s (I am a girl, after all), I was horrified at what was inside.

It was chaos. Blond and naked Barbies everywhere. A veritable orgy of unbelievably long blond legs and longer blond hair, pointy feet and even pointier boobs. Clothes and shoes and hats, wrinkled and ruined. It reminded me of the time GI Joe paid an unexpected visit to Barbie’s townhouse.

Crestfallen at my own carelessness, I turn to Mrs. Beasley, sitting like a Beacon of Comfort on top of an old cedar-lined trunk. Surely she will have some words of wisdom for this unseemly situation. I pull the small white ring expectantly.

“AAARRRRAAAACCCKKKKKKGGGGGG.”

That was it.

What remained of my best childhood memories -- disheveled, damaged, and incoherent.
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My brother’s a keeper for sure.

Are you a keeper? What is the one thing you’d never give up?
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Confession: My most prized possession is a board.

It’s more than a foot long with notches on either end. It is weathered and smooth from years of use; the paint faded to a pale mossy memory.

My grandfather made it to sit on a long, loop of rope suspended between two pine trees.

It was my swing.

It is the most important thing I've ever kept. It’s the only thing that remains from a place that literally no longer exists.

I can still feel the coarse, picky rope in my hands. I can hear the sound of the wind through the forest surrounding my grandparents’ cabin in Northern Michigan. I can hear the creaking of the rope as Papa pushed me higher and higher.

But here’s the thing: Even if I didn’t have that board, I’d still have the memories.

So maybe I am a keeper after all.
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I am listening to: Feel Better Songs for Scott II
I am reading: The New York Times on-line
And I am: Letting go