My family decided to create some space this Winter Break by each throwing away ten things a day.   Let’s do the math:  four of us in the house, ten things a day, fourteen days in Winter Break, that’s. . .uh. . .let’s see. . .carry the one. . .a whole mountain of trash eliminated and a whole truckload of space created (I’m sorry; I’m an English teacher.  Metaphors come more easily to me than doing multiplication in my head).

We’re three days into this grand experiment and, while it hasn’t gone perfectly, I’m pleased with our progress.   Here’s a taste of my list from the first day or so:

–Those blue-striped pajamas whose tops were lost some time during the Clinton Administration? Gone.

–The pocketless sweatpants? Gone.

–Some papers? Gone?

–The random homemade mix CDs sitting in the office cupboard? Gone. (although I saved the jewel cases to be reused later. . .).  I even played the one called “Sad Mix” and threw it away, certain that was a metaphor for something.

–Two unopened CD-Rom programs for photo manipulation. Garage Sale pile.

–That cable in the drawer? Anybody know what this goes to? No? Gone.

I have no idea what the rest of my family has thrown away, but the garage sale pile continues to grow and, after the sale, everything else is going to be taken away by whichever charity I can find with the largest truck.  I’m excited about the possibility of all that extra space in our house, our hearts, and our lives.  I try to wallow in the possibility of an increased sense of Zen.

Sometimes my excitement gets the best of me, though.  If I’m not careful, I catch myself fantasizing about the day we’ll create enough space to get our cars off the driveway (where they’ve been for over ten years) and into the garage.

And then I think: Whoa, slow down, Turbo.  TZT