No Swedish Death Cleaning for Me
Writing Prompt #39: My treasures are a look back and inspiration for the future
Recently a friend gave me the book on Swedish Death Cleaning, maybe because I turned 70 this year? The age when friends and others start asking you, if they haven’t already:
- Are you going to sell your house?
- Aren’t you going to retire?
- Aren’t you worried that your kids are going to have to deal with your stuff once you’re gone?
My answer to all of these right now is NO.
Spurred on by Crow’s Feet writing prompt #39, I reflected on treasured objects in my home that I have no intention of clearing out to accommodate a story line of what people my age should be doing, e.g., Swedish Death Cleaning.
It’s not that I’m adverse to getting rid of things. Reading Marie Kondo some years ago led to ditching blazers with large shoulder pads, plastic toys and random games, collections of old magazines, and lots of the artwork generated in my daughters’ Montessori school days. (However, am now starting a collection of my grandson’s, so there’s that).
Among the treasured objects that aren’t going anywhere:
- A note that my mom wrote to her college professor — five days after she had planned and hosted my wedding—letting him know that she was following the “spirit, and not the letter of the course” in submitting her paper. She grew up in a family that sent the boys, and not the girls to college. When she was nearing 60, she told my Dad “Ray, I’m going to college.” And then she enrolled, graduating four years later magna cum laude and fluent not only in her native French and English, but also in Spanish and Portuguese. The handwritten note is a constant reminder that my mother fulfilled her dream in her 60s, and inspires me that dreams don’t have an expiration date.
- Journals and notebooks, lined up on shelves, stored in French market baskets and just about everywhere. The most recent, a custom journal gifted to me by my youngest daughter, is aptly titled The World According to Janine. I love to write, capturing thoughts and ideas in the moment. A new unopened journal always inspires me with possibility. Is there such a thing as too many journals? Uh, no.
- Photos of family trips, displayed in different rooms in the house, the most recent of my daughters on a family trip last Thanksgiving in Belize. Carried within them are memories of family trips since my daughters were little — the road trip through Kansas to my in-laws house while tornadoes chased us! — as well as the promise of future excursions as long as we’re able.
- A blanket/wall hanging I made of sweater scraps during a creative burst in my late 50s. I sold most of my creations at curated arts and crafts fairs, but I had to keep this one. It reminds me how much fun I have repurposing, and inspires me to make room for creative endeavors as I plan my what’s next.
- A book gifted to me last year by longtime friend and colleague Lisa Cirincione, filled with tributes and memories from current and former staff of the social sector consulting firm that I’d founded and led for three plus decades. It reminds me that we can always make a difference in someone’s life, and in the community.
- A photo of me with friends on an election night in 1999, when I ran a school board campaign for a friend. That night, we defeated an entrenched incumbent from a political machine, something everyone told us was impossible. The photo is a reminder that “we can do the hard things” including combating ageism. Last year, when I worked with partners to champion Colorado legislation that prohibits employers from asking for graduation dates and other age identifiers on initial job applications, that photo inspired me through all the doubters who said we could never get it done in one year.
In each of these and others are the threads of my life story — a sometimes conflicted activist, passionate about her family and a range of issues, committed to finding meaning and purpose in her various endeavors, with creative pursuits punctuating the fabric of a more analytic career in community and social change.
A few years ago, at a reunion of my college friends, a friend explained how she had cleared out her longtime home in preparation for a move to her new home on Cape Cod. “As I picked up each object,” she explained, “I asked myself ‘would my kids want this?’” If the answer was no, she tossed it.
Had my mom done this, I doubt that I’d now have that beloved note. I don’t know what my girls will find, but I hope it sparks both memory and inspiration.
