I’ve been hit by the urge to purge. 

People hunkered down in spring 2020; the only evidence of life was their stuff on the curb beside empty Amazon boxes. Definitely the one-in, one-out kind of purging. I didn’t feel the bug then, indeed my pandemic walking partner, Janice, gently mocked me as I fervently gathered up other people’s junk to save it from landfill.  

There was nothing on my sidewalk. While not a hoarder, I am a keeper of stuff: a trunkful of school papers, artwork, certificates, and newspaper clippings - 1972 to 1989; 65 place setting of dishes, cutlery, glassware, and linens from a wedding I catered three years ago; a lifetime of books; two mini-harps, a cello, a piano, a trumpet, and a violin. The list goes on. And then there’s Jack’s stuff - big tools, hand-tools, power tools, unidentifiable appliance parts, a collection of oil lamps, computer equipment, doodads, and gadgets. Couldn’t part with anything in 2020. It was just too much change already.

Sitting in my gazebo recently, though, I looked towards my house thinking how wasteful it is, during a housing crisis, to use so much good living space just for storage. I thought of the 400 square foot space behind me, occupied by a car and the last of Jack’s tools and appliance parts. I hatched a plan - repurpose the garage as my living space and free up the house for someone else. I immediately focussed on jettisoning things. Not easy though.

My living room - where I often write -sparkles with Marie Kondo-style joy making purging tough. Here’s a tour from my view from the couch:

• wicker chair - It was in the guest room of our farmhouse when, ‘70s-style, it had an orange seat. My mother re-upholstered it in blue and white at their next home. When it came to our house 10 years ago, Jack fixed the unstable seat it had always had. A lifetime of memories. Not ditching it.

• antique wooden recliner - Dad’s chair on the farm, with green flowered cushions. It too got redone in blue and white. Mom sold it to Jack for $2, the amount her dad charged when he sold it to her in 1950s. I can see Jack sitting in it reading a book with a dog at his feet. Chockfull of memories and worth way more than $2. It stays.

• black half-moon mantel clock - I’ve had it since my early 20s and it’s been everywhere with me. So simple - so IKEA - and so likely that no-one else has kept it for 30 years. I am good at that. Small - I will keep it.

• cello - Built by my father, I played it for years in Victoria, Brussels, and all over the GTA where I connected to others who share my love of orchestral and chamber music. I never got beyond being a solid amateur sectional player, often air bowing to mask my lack of practice, skill, or both. That cello symbolizes the adage: “let not the perfect become the enemy of the good.” One day maybe I’ll play again.

• tiny chair - 15 years ago, I picked it up for $10 at an antique store in Neustadt not far from my hometown. I love the roundness of the seat and back and the gold painted trim. I can see Jack’s granddaughters twirling on it like a piano stool. It’s going nowhere.

• chrome and glass expanding coffee table - I bought it at L’Atelier - now gone - in Rosedale. It was the floor model and therefore reduced in price which put it within my reach, a rarity there. When I went with Jack to pick it up, they thought he was my contractor. It was our first experience of people making assumptions about us. It reminds me to resist that urge. Not purgeable.

• painted wooden rooster with bendy legs - Jack chose it at the Black River Trading Company on on our last road trip. Like this item itself, Jack was silly and quirky and delightful that day even though I know he felt lousy. Not a chance in hell I’m getting rid of it.

• side table - it was in the house when we moved in but I didn’t pay it much attention until I had to shift it alone downstairs in early COVID to make way for my desk. I very nearly killed myself as it slipped on the stairs. A symbol of the vulnerability of living alone. Can’t part with it.

• lavender accents - I found shelves and a semicircular table on the street during COVID and painted them lavender. They align so closely to my new life - my writing - and for that, I love them. And they’re small.

Can’t risk losing any of these memories. Wish me luck as I move to another room!