Clutter or culture? (Erin)

From the New York Times comes an amusing look at a problem some of us may have had, or may yet have, involving the cherished possessions of previous generations:

Here is the problem with family furnishings: they are never simply stuff. As hard as it may be to dispose of a piece of furniture you bought with the fellow who turned out to be your ex-husband, it is far more difficult to get rid of a piece bequeathed to you by a member of a previous generation, which carries with it not only your memories, but his or hers as well.

Even today, when so many people favor simple, modern décor, turning your back on a grandmother's tea set or ornate settee can feel like betrayal. Admit to your family you're thinking of getting rid of such a piece and you're likely to kick off a family opera, with crescendoing wails of "How could you?" Quite likely, you'll be torturing yourself with the same question.

Ambivalence and guilt, it seems, are central elements of furniture inheritance, the anchoring pieces around which everything is organized, like the sofa in a living room. Barry Lubetkin, a psychologist and the director of the Institute for Behavior Therapy in Manhattan, has observed this in a number of patients living with inherited furniture they hate. It's an unhealthy setup, in which people become "slaves to inanimate objects," he says. "Once you're defining it as something you can't get rid of, you're not in control of your life or your home."

On the one hand, I'm a big believer in the notion of not becoming a slave to one's possessions. My parents' many moves helped create a mindset for me that is not at all inclined to save things that aren't necessary, won't pack well, or will cost more to move than they do to replace; one of my mother's favorite quotations is the saying "Three moves are as good as a fire."

On the other hand, though, I cherish a beautiful carnival glass bowl that belonged to my grandmother, who died when I was a little girl. My mother never admired it much, but because she kept it, and realized that what to her seemed a little gaudy was my idea of lovely, I have a little piece of my grandmother's life that makes me wonder if our tastes in other matters might have coincided as well; I think about my childhood memories of her when I look at it.

And that's something that many in the Times article understand quite well:

Melodie Bryant, who keeps her less-than-handsome Uncle Ivins on the wall opposite her bed, has dispatched any lingering ambivalence, reconciling herself to the inconveniences the family pieces have caused her. Sitting on an old red settee in her sofa-less living room, she needs only the piece itself to explain why.

This settee, she says, belonged to a well-to-do great-great-aunt named Nelly, who lived with her husband and 4-year-old daughter in Philadelphia in the early 1900s. The child died of typhoid. After her death, the couple closed the house and never returned. It remained closed for 35 years. How could Ms. Bryant ever get rid of the red settee? Get rid of the family furniture and you're sure to lose the stories, she says; you'll lose your history.[Emphasis added-EM]

There may be a fine line between cluttering up your life with the flotsam and jetsam of previous generations, and preserving your family's history and your own heritage. And it may be hard, sometimes, to figure out where that line is--but it's worth the effort.