I seem to remember my father doing this at various points of his life — his intellect rising up against his soft and comfortable heart. This would manifest itself by a big purge of his life — all fat would be stripped, both of body and mind. He would give away all his artifacts, his art, his books. He would start exercising — running and becoming a gaunt machine.

He took it to another level in his later years, making his bathroom a spartan, all-white affair with the absolute minimum necessities and paring his wardrobe down to one dozen white polo shirts, jeans, and sneakers, period.

I am grateful to my stepmother for many things, not the least of which is that she kept comforts around dad — a piano, candy, art. She kept showing him that the minimal way is not the best way.

I have thought a lot about dad during my 2008, the Year of Straightening Up. I do not anticipate having the dedication (or desire) to go the extremes that dad did, but I have gotten rid of a lot of items, that till now, have followed me through my adulthood like a dusty, icy trail after a comet.

I recently gave away a big pile of my records. I was waiting for the right person and circumstance in which to finally let go, and he came in the form of Shawn, who has a record player, the means to digitize and a deeply eclectic nature — the perfect person to have them. They have a good home. I can let go. I still have a few sentimental ones left that I just can’t allow to leave me. They’ll be the ones that someone will snap up at the Really Good Estate Sale. Coming in 2064!

And my CDs. I tried to sell them at a local establishment and had a deeply unpleasant flashback to my poor, tattered 20s when I sold some of my music collection in order to eat. The horrible patchouli smell of the store, the mean hipster buyer — “Uh, most of these are not popular enough for us to take? And some are scratched?” Ugh.

My friends looked at me with suspicion when I carted two huge bags of CDs to dinner recently — their looks said are you dying? or are you moving? Their fears were allayed once they joyfully jumped into the feeding frenzy. Take that, hipster buyer.

I’m sure my friends appreciate the music I gave them. But, you know? I doesn’t really matter. It’s that initial transfer of goods into hands that I know that is the key to letting go.

Kind of like when being told the dog got to go to a special dog-ranch, full of love and bones!

More to come.

Photo: rekkids, by me.

Related hamblinks:

• dear diary: I actually got some sh*t done this weekend!
• Today, I organized
• florid prose
• ass cradlers and time keepers
• …and nobody wants your awful recliners, either.
• music week! day one