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Today my husband's mother officially moved into her new house across the street.  We've been looking forward to it for ages, but for some reason, the whole WORK aspect of it didn't really occur to me until today, when I was chin deep in moving boxes and trying to clear a path to the closet.  As I helped my mother-in-law begin the onerous process of unpacking, I thought a lot about Stuff and Things, and what they mean to different people.

I'm not a person who attaches much sentiment to Stuff and Things.  If my house burned down tomorrow, there are honestly few things I would miss.  I probably have my blog, google cache and Flickr to thank for that, but still, stuff is just stuff.  Aside from personal mementos and old photographs, stuff is replaceable.  I've gone out my way to make sure that I've documented my kids' lives for posterity, so even if I lost that adorable little caterpillar cap my son wore after he was first born, I'd live.  I have plenty of pictures of it.

When we moved here, I made approximately 843 trips to the Salvation Army to donate our unused junk.  I couldn't get rid of it fast enough.  I was the anti-hoarder.  Getting rid of excess Stuff and Things is therapeutic for me.  I actually enjoy it.   And it's really REALLY difficult for me not to project that personal satisfaction onto others.  Just because getting rid of stuff is easy for me obviously doesn't mean it's that easy for everyone.  I know my mother-in-law finds it almost physically impossible to part with certain possessions.  As much as it surprises me, I'm working on being more compassionate about it.  It's just like money - it's easier to know how to spend it when it isn't yours.