Seasonal Migration

It's time for the annual migration. I'm not talking about birds flying south for the winter but of the seasonal switch from shorts and t-shirts to tights and sweaters. 

One thing struck me yesterday as I laundered and folded and ran up and down the stairs carrying warm clothes up and cool clothes down. It was that many of these clothes would be better off going not up or down but out of the house entirely.

How many sweaters and shirts and scarves do I hang onto because I love the person who gave them to me? The answer is ... many! 

Yesterday I told myself once again that I need to stop hanging onto these duds. It's one thing to have papers and books and knick-knacks you cannot bear to part with ... but to have clothes that are this way, too, is far more inconvenient. What's required is a certain ruthlessness. I'm awaiting its arrival.