After rifling through the books, the second thing I attacked in my Swedish death cleaning were cans of paint on the silver wire rack in the garage. Unmarked cans and cans that were marked — "Thomas' room 2015," "Front Porch Gray 2012" — and then one blue rubber glove, two stuck-together rags, a small steel roller with the pad painted to it, an empty rectangular can of paint thinner and a brown ceramic bowl with dried white paint at the bottom.
Twenty cans in all. Had there been a bunch of kids around, the paint could have been an art project. Go ahead and have fun, mix them all together and see what you come up with.
The inspiration for cleaning was a book a friend gave me called "The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning" by Margareta Magnussson. The subtitle is "How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter."
Don't focus on the "death" part," that's just to get your attention. No one is dying. Not yet. Not that I know of.
Think about "cleaning." There is joy in cleaning.
"Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in, the sunshine in."
Many of us are searching for a lightness of being. An extra 20 cans of paint makes lightness challenging. Shed, donate and toss. Do it now or as close to now as now can be. Not only will you feel better but in the unlikely event that you ever die, and I'm betting against it, your friends and family will toast and remember you fondly for the lightness of your footprint.
I made a game of it. People like games. I know I do.
Throw or give away four things a day. I started six or eight months ago with clothes. Clothes because there may not be a line at the door for your black short-sleeved Gap shirts no matter how dashing they make you look.
I suggest throwing in a couple of articles of clothing of which you are fond so the "Do not become too attached to your stuff" gods know you're serious. It's an offering of sorts plus a nice surprise for some lucky shopper at Salvation Army or Junk-Atique.
I started with books and a single volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Talk about heavy. There is nothing heavier than an encyclopedia, and a set requires its own sturdy shelf.
Remember when you were growing up? You'd never give away an encyclopedia. They were gold. Everybody had them. Otherwise, you couldn't look stuff up.
Encyclopedias are still around but thankfully they've gotten lighter. They weigh about 8 ounces or the same as an iPhone.
Next in the book box was "Black's Law Book." I'd never read it and Sue wasn't likely to look at it again.
"North Dallas Forty" wasn't heavy but there was a time and place for it. It was racy, sort of like "The Summer of ’42."
I grabbed a book off the desk in Katie's old room, now the guest bedroom, called "The Luxury Collection," Hotel Stories. Who would want to read about luxury hotels across the world?
Turns out Sue did, or she thought guests might. I put it in the giveaway box and she took it out of the box and returned it to Katie's room.
No words were spoken. No words needed to be.
After the books and clothes, I went to the garage. Paint cans first and then hardware. I have an extensive screw collection housed in Tupperware-like containers with the sizes written on top. I'm proud of my screw collection. This is a comfort thing for a man and a point of pride during garage tours. Who knows what project a man might tackle next?
"Next" has not included 90 percent of the screw inventory. "Next" did include deck screws. "Next" turned out to be next to nothing.
I haven't gotten to the photographs. Nor the pictures the kids drew when they were little. That's tougher. Those I might have to leave.
The kids were cute then. So were the pictures. I feel like I might be throwing away all evidence of their childhood, so I tabled that decision.
A friend recently sent me letters I'd written to her 50 years ago saying that she was returning letters to all her friends. That's next-level cleaning.
I read my letters. I wasn't as deep or funny as I remember. Can I send them back?
We were different then. We had less stuff. We were no less happy.
Email contributing columnist Herb Benham at benham.herb@gmail.com. His column appears here on Sundays; the views expressed are his own.
