From the Sidelines: Culling your stuff is easier said than done

Russell Huffman

I’m happy to report that there isn’t a story in this week’s paper involving a newspaper staff member being crushed by plastic storage totes and his kayak, but it was mighty close.

The trials and rigors of picking up one’s belongings and moving should be experienced at least once in a lifetime — if for nothing more than finding all your misplaced items. I realized that I owned four hacksaws, multiple connecting pieces of PVC, three bowsaws, and the list went on.

Aside from realizing I had bought a few extras over the years, it also dawned on me I was a t-shirt hoarder. It pains me to let go of that Rolling Stones t-shirt with the hole in the left armpit, so instead, I stick it in a plastic tote with 70 others.

I’m not keeping it or the other 70 mangled (only slightly) garments – I’m just planning the best way to cull through them. There are all sizes, and perhaps I will “grow” or “shrink” into them. What happens if the Banana Splits come back into fashion?

Only a couple of you will understand that last question, and it only illustrates that sometimes it’s best to let go….far past time.

That is until I start looking at my boxes of electrical cords and power devices. I’ll probably never need a dimmer switch for a 1939 Ford Coupe, but if I have a friend who needs one, I’m an instant hero.

At the same time, I was getting ready to move, and dozens of copper wire-filled cords can take up space and are heavy.

We’re talking quantity here. I was going to need to make an effort to say goodbye.

When I reached my third box of “valuable cords,” I found an old transistor radio ear plug. In today’s world of wireless earbuds having a single-wired mono, ear plug is pretty much senseless.

Here it was my chance to break the ice and start culling. I looked at the white plug with half a dozen knots tied in its cord. The white color had faded, and some could argue it was almost yellow, but not everyone is a true connoisseur of electrical cords without devices.

I was weakening, and I looked at the ratty ear plug and noticed it was started to fray around the plug-in end.

“It doesn’t work,” I thought to myself.

At last!

As I reached over to toss it in the trash out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the radio.

“Maybe it does work?”

It did.

If anyone in Socorro needs a 1988 Radio Shack mono ear plug, I have you covered.

There is good news, though, because I finally got rid of the Rolling Stones t-shirt I mentioned earlier.

The kayak caught my shin, and I used it as a bandage.

Baby steps, people..baby steps.