Recently I sat in front of my franklin stove and burned the sympathy cards I received after my father died. What a healing place to do this, the very fireplace my own father installed as a gift to himself and his family.  The fireplace around which we have gathered many times to laugh and cry. I cried again, reading the tributes sent in his honour.

Far from being a chore, decluttering is a means to ground yourself, honouring your past, respecting the stuff which you once valued and thought was important to have around you. Fire has a permanence unlike a shredding machine.

 

(This thread all started when I was googling some info on a play about decluttering when I found Lea’s Goode-Harris’ blog, Tales From the Labyrinth. It popped up out of the blue of course. She is the designer the labyrinth I painted for the turn of the Millennium. I had lost track of her. Gotta love those Google synchros!)