If anything epitomizes out-of-sight, out-of-mind, it's these window seats in the hallway that leads to our bedroom. Window seats are pretty and fun to have, but the storage offered is not easy to use and therefore unpractical for things you need to access except rarely. Twenty years ago I filled them up with kid stuff and have rarely thought of them since.  When I decluttered last year I ignored them altogether, then last December I had an idea that I wanted to store my holiday decorations in one place and those window seats would be ideal. One quiet day before Christmas I opened them up and went down memory lane. I had stored old decorative pillows, Holly Hobby figurines, wall hangings, and precious baby clothes from kid's rooms. When I'm decluttering sentimental items I feel as though I’m two people with competing interests. On one hand I want to clear it all out because I know I'll love the end results, but on the other hand I want to hold on tightly to the memories each item brings. But as wise men say, if everything matters, then nothing matters. I know from past decluttering experience that by allowing myself to keep a few things, I can more easily let go of the majority. When I finished this job I heaved a huge congratulatory sigh of relief and gave myself an attagirl. Don't ever underestimate the value of self praise; these little triumphs need to be celebrated!

I don't want to minimize the fact that it's difficult to sort through sentimental items, especially if you are a sentimental person. If this is a stumbling block for you I hope you’ll google what professional organizers have to say on this subject.  It’s very possible to get yourself to a place where decluttering sentimental items is doable. It might take several rounds of decluttering, perhaps over several years. It's a journey, don't fret, trust and respect your end goal and you'll get there. 

I saved a few things from those window seats.  One was a set of tiny glass animals than once upon a time I, then my daughter, son and granddaughter played with. I'm looking forward to the day I can share the little box with my grandson. I also saved my baby doll and her handmade clothes, all tucked inside her battered metal travel trunk because I'm not yet ready to say goodbye to little Susie. I also found an old record player and story records. There is Woody Woodpecker and Pooh and dozens more, all very sweet and old fashioned with story records representing the 40s for Papa, the 70s for Auntie, and the 80s for Daddy. We gave it to Carter for Christmas and we're so happy that he loves it too. But back to the subject, in the days after Christmas I neatly fit in all the Christmas decorations, plus the few Halloween, Thanksgiving and Easter decorations that we still own. It all fit because my decorations had been drastically pruned.

The wreaths and trees are in the attic in these newly purchased tree bags. The bags are pure genius and I no longer wrestle putting the dismantled tree back into the too small box. Now everything is easily accessible by me, and that is the big takeaway. I really want this house to be manageable by the two of us as much as possible.

"Teens at the Beach". I especially love this photo circa 1945. My mother, front row, third from the right, grew up in a small farming community just east of Ventura Beach in Southern California. I showed her this picture just weeks before she died, and she looked at it wistfully and said, "Oh, we had so much fun in those days." My mother maintained these friendships throughout her life. I grew up knowing most of these women from visiting her hometown several times a month. I'd like to share one story I shared at my mother's memorial service. Mother lived on a small ranch just outside of town. When she was 13 she naturally knew how to drive because knowing how to drive a tractor and pickup truck was essential on a ranch. By this time her six older brothers had left home to either attend college or enter the armed forces. When my grandfather was busy on the ranch, there was no one to take my grandmother and great aunt into town for shopping, tea parties, etc. and they felt very isolated. My grandfather asked the sheriff in town if little Ruthie couldn't drive the women into town once a week, saying, "I know you need to have a driver's license nowadays, but can you make an exception? Now with the boys gone, my women are stuck at home and have no way to get into town." The sheriff said yes, as long as little Ruthie would not abuse the privilege and only drive her mother and aunt into town and no other capers. The deal was made and Ruthie promised. The very next day, my 13 year old mother took the pickup, piled a dozen plus kids into the truck bed, one was a friend's little sister and only 6, and headed to the beach. A farmer was driving into town and saw Ruthie on the road. When he reached town he looked for the sheriff and said, "I saw Ruthie Johnson driving her daddy's truck towards the beach with a pile of kids in the back. I didn't know she was old enough to drive." Busted. The sheriff called the sheriff in the next little town, the town she would pass through before reaching the beach, and asked him to look out for a young blonde girl driving a pile of kids in a blue Ford pickup, flag her down and send her home. 

Growing up I spent many Sundays at grandad's house; by now he was widowed and had moved into town. When mother's car was in front, people would stop by and the house would fill with old friends talking about their crazy small-town childhood capers and this story was told most often. Everyone loved telling it and I never tired of hearing it.