By Kathy Hughes

Contributing Writer

How many times have I downsized? Let me count the times — at least five in the last 20 years, and I’m not counting cleaning out the closet, or even a garage or basement. Major downsizing is all that counts.

One of my first attempts at downsizing may not really count. When I got married, I moved from my two bedroom apartment to set up living as a couple. He was living on his own, and so was I. He had a complete kitchen, living room and bedroom furniture, and so did I. Since my decor was thrift shop and garage sale modern, and his included showroom and vintage family heritage, I was the one to shed off my worldly goods.

All too soon, I was a widow needing to move from a five bedroom house to a two bedroom bungalow. Not only had we accumulated a great deal of belongings, but we were both savers, and seldom parted with our mounds of stuff; what is more, by the time I was ready to downsize, both of his parents and my mother had passed away and, in addition to my own surpluses, I had three estates to settle!

By and by, I began switching into pre-retirement mode, and once again, I had to unload a mountain of stuff. As I moved into retirement and post retirement, I downsized two more times.

With all of this simplifying process, you’d think I would be pared down to the bare essentials; oh, but not so, I am still loaded down with precious, but unnecessary junk. How frustrating, I hate downsizing. I can be assured that if I dispose of the muffin pan I haven’t used in five years, I will be buying a new one within the next year.

Even more annoying, is that myth that if you haven’t used something within a year, you can trash it without a second look. I admit that even with all my moves, I have whole unopened boxes that I have hauled from one place to the next. Some people may think this is ridiculous, but I deign to disagree.

The fact is that I don’t know what’s in those boxes, and neither does anybody else. There are treasured items that I have no idea where they are, but I usually only think of them at unexpected times, and with such short notice, I don’t have time to hunt through ten boxes on a scavenger hunt.

By now, each of those bins and boxes is a Pandora’s hoard of memories — simply open a box, and I will be mobbed by a stream of emotions for which I am not prepared. I cannot open those boxes because there is no telling what’s in them, and I am afraid.

For whatever reason, I found myself on a buying spree lately — it seems every email I opened announced deals too good to pass up. Every day, one package after another is delivered to my door. It is like Christmas or a birthday, but even better. I am in receipt of not desperately needed items, but more stuff.

There is an almost tragic irony in this story. One of the sales was an online auction, where fantastic collectibles and jewelry were listed at starting prices of only a dollar, most of them were from estate sales. What a fantastic idea — I could have a company come and list all the items that I know I should dispose of.

But wait — wasn’t I in process of adding to my collection; why was I buying more stuff that I will have to get rid of? What have I done? It was fun and exciting, but now, not only am I filled with buyer’s remorse, I have more of all the stuff I don’t need.

For me, Pandora’s Box was overflowing with nothing but temptation, but, in this case at least, the real myth is that there is such a thing as downsizing.