Day of Reckoning

I was out of college for seven years before I got married. During all those years, I lived in the same apartment located on the edge of Lancaster, PA. I occasionally had friends who were in transition bunk with me for a month or two, but for the most part I lived alone. I liked living a relatively simple life and having control of my environment.

The apartment started out with a sofa ($300), chair ($50), and two paintings-all selected by my parents. They were retirees and were happy to take on the task of furnishing my apartment while I finished up my degree a few states away. I paid them for the items they selected and added my bookcase, stereo, and bed from my childhood home. My dad made me a kitchen table, provided as a college graduation gift along with four matching chairs.

I didn’t add a lot to this stock of material goods in those seven years. I never owned a television. I eventually splurged on a nice shortwave radio (Radio Shack model DX-440), an electronic keyboard, and a selection of Far Side comic books to keep visitors entertained in my TV-less pad. My single years were fairly unencumbered with “stuff”, allowing me to have an active social life.

Fast forward to life today. Our suburban house is filled with the accumulations of three decades of family life. One wall of our basement is lined with boxes of toys that used to be my children’s treasures. Dozens of storage bins sit on racks, holding items as disparate as my father’s World War II service records, my high school memorabilia, and a variety of seldom-used household items. There’s a couple dozen carousels containing family slides from the 1960s, along with a projector that still worked the last time I checked. I have a set of small street signs my dad crafted for me as a youngster to make riding my spider bike more interesting. We have over a thousand books. Our walk-in closet is jammed with clothes. You get the picture.

I’m almost 62. I tell myself I still have time to deal with downsizing issues at a later date. I’m still working part-time, so I can be excused for kicking the can down the road. My good intentions to nibble away at the pile a bit each year have never gotten very far along.

I fear someday a reckoning is coming.