kondo that

Here is one of the problems, Marie Kondo, if you are 70 years old and going through your stuff. There is a lot of stuff, and much of it sentimental, or it wouldn't still be hanging around.

That is the last baby bottle. I convinced Hannah to throw it in the trash at age two by telling her all the kids did it. But then I snuck it out and hid it. Does anyone want this brittle plastic baby bottle? I don't think so. But I have been unable to throw it away.

There are notebooks from my adventures all over the world that not even I can read, due to my handwriting. And let's not even talk about the photographs. 

There is my helmet and vest from racing the Carrera Panamericana in my then sister-in-law's Porsche. The Viyella shirt I got from one long ago (and obviously WASPy) boyfriend. Jewelry: every earring has a story. The qipao I had made to fit my skin in Taiwan in 1971 that even Hannah wasn't able to wiggle into. And the socks I wore when she was born. 

But worst of all are the books. Two Little Savages, the how-to bible for my brother and me when we were small, traipsing through the woods with a travois and trying to light fires with a stick and bow. The Bomba the Jungle Boy and Tarzan series I inherited from my father. The Robin Hood books I collected. The books written or photographed by friends —or me.

What to do? No one will even know the stories attached to these objects when I have forgotten them. Help me out here, Marie. You're 36 now. When you figure it out, let me know.