The "Gettin' Rid Of The Junk" Story

It was an ordinary day.  Reading my latest Saturday Evening Post when I came upon an article titled "Swedish Death Cleaning."  Now....if you subscribe to the Post, you more than likely have read the article, but for those who haven't read it and for those who don't subscribe to the magazine, I'll tell you about "decluttering like there's no tomorrow!"  The article talks about Swedish "dosadning", literally "death cleaning."  It tells how after Swedes turn 60, they start to get rid of stuff by giving it to people in their 20s.  As if those in their 20's want something that belonged to someone in their 60s.  Doing so is known as "death cleaning."  I'm sorry to say I never heard of that, and really don't want to hear much about it.  The writer of the story, Phillip Gulley, said that what is meant by "death cleaning" is beginning to get rid of your "stuff", not his wife's "stuff", most notably his bicycles, which she thought were three too many, pointing out I could only ride one at a time.  He got his first bicycle 58 years ago when his father cobbled one together from parts he'd found at the town dump.  He'd managed to acquire three more and now his wife wants him to give most of them to some young whippersnapper who is perfectly capable of getting a job and buying his own bicycle.  Then a day later his wife asked him how many pocketknives he had.  He said that he had been judiciously collecting pocketknives since he was a senior in high school and now has a superb collection she apparently wants to pass on to perfect strangers who will do God knows what with them.  Not even the Swedes let just anyone have a pocketknife.  This whole venture strikes me as un-American, an affront to our custom of amassing barns full of stuff to leave to our children after we're dead, and not a moment before.  It is then, while sorting  through the useful items we've entrusted to their care - used Tupperware, mixers with one beater, tablecloths with coffee rings, and slightly used tooth-brushes, perfect for cleaning the ink-fouled letters on the manual typewriter we'll also leave them - that they will come to appreciate our foresight and savvy.  The Swedes aren't doing their young people any favors by burdening them with their cast-offs, when all they want to do is travel and see the world, but now can't, having to deal with their parents' junk while their parents are still alive, hovering over them, telling them the value and history of each item, forbidding its disposal.  Their description of this custom, intending to sound noble, is in fact deceptive.  It is not "death cleaning," because they are not dead, indeed are nowhere near death, and should therefore keep their stuff instead of pawning it off on those least prepared to deal with it.  Perhaps a new custom is in need.  One where when the parents die, their children can pick through the stuff that remains, selecting a few cherished or needed items.  The rest of it can be heaped on the lawns, our bodies placed on top, and the entire shebang set on fire.  That's something the Vikings used to do that rarely gets mentioned these days:  Toss the dead warriors on a ship, push it out to sea, and set it on fire.  Problem solved.  No more family heirlooms to deal with, no more boxes filling our garages and basements, and no more standing in line for half a day at Antiques Roadshow to discover that our great-grandfather's chamber pot is only worth $15.  This is probably the best idea I've ever had, and if you want to call it "Gulley Death Cleaning," that's fine with me.  It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.