Spring (Cleaning) Has Sprung

March 2002

I blame PBS. Okay, more specifically, I blame the "Antiques Roadshow."

You know the show: Two antiques experts review the dust-collecting contents of ordinary people's attics to see if any of it is actually worth something. Everyone wants to be that lucky person who gets told, "Yes, these baby booties were actually worn by Gengis Khan just a few short years before conquering his Kindergarten class. These are replacement laces, so the pair's only worth about, hmm, eight million dollars."

Now as I do my annual spring cleaning, it's hard to get that "Roadshow" mindset out of my head. I wonder if every item I uncover will be the big prize in the Packrat Lottery. Because I hold on to everything, my attic looks like an archeological dig site, only dustier. I find things that look old enough to come from King Tut's tomb -- well, if King Tut shopped at Wal-Mart anyway.

"Honey," I ask my wife, "when did we buy this 'Dogs Playing Poker' velvet painting?"

"We didn't, it was here when we moved in."

"I'd better hold onto it, it might be worth something. You never know when you'll meet some rich collector who has an affinity for gambling canines."

Eventually, I'd had enough. It was time to put on the Indiana Jones hat and play "Raiders of the Lost Closet." (Plus it was a good excuse to get out my favorite whip ... er, but that's another story.)

After seeing some author plug one of those "find a gold mine in your attic" books on a daytime talk show, I tried to sell it all at a yard sale. Yard sales allow a person to kill a full weekend sitting in front of his home with all his embarrassing junk while complete strangers pick through it, making snap judgements about the seller's personality. I imagined a nice payday as passing bargain hunters slowed down for a drive-by browsing. But later, as buyers pawed through the stacks arguing the glow-in-the-dark Florida flamingo key chain/cigarette lighter wasn't worth my 25-cent asking price, I started to wonder if the only attic that talk show guy ever visited was Oprah's.

Charities aren't an option either. Looking at the quality of my stuff, anything I'd send to help the less fortunate would just be sent back. I'd wake up one morning to a big box on my doorstep with a note saying, "Dear Dan. Thanks but no thanks. We'd really rather do without. Love, Poor people everywhere."

I'd decided if I couldn't sell it, give it away, or burn it in a big 50-foot bonfire in my street (stupid public-safety laws), it was time to trash it. I pushed everything from the yard sale down my driveway to the curb to be taken away. Sure, the angry sanitation workers put a contract on my life so I can no longer leave my house, but I have so much more space now.

Since three new self-storage places have popped up in my town, I have a feeling I'm not the only junk junkie that needs to quit the habit. Here are some tips I've come up with if you're putting your own attic on a diet.

Rule 1: Whatever it is, it's not coming back in style. At least soon enough for you to use it again. There's no collector value in used horizontal-striped bell-bottoms, Jordache jeans, or pastel Crockett & Tubbs jackets with the still-rolled-up sleeves. All that stuff looked pretty dopey when people wore it decades ago, it won't look stylish on anyone now old enough to know better.

Rule 2: Anything broken for more than one week is not getting fixed. You know that stereo that's needed a new power cable since you first got that new Captain and Tenielle album on 8-track? You can live without it. You can live without Captain and Tenielle too, but that's another article.

Rule 3: Odd are, it's not going up in value. No one will ever attend an auction of your old clothes and furniture, unless your last name is Kennedy. Oh, and unless you're dead too. And there's not much demand for your complete set of Elvis commemorative plates or a Time/Life Books series on insect mating rituals. That autographed picture of you in Vegas with Tiny Tim won't make you any money on eBay either.

So do yourself a favor, if you're looking around your own Temple of Doom this spring and dealing with all of your old artifacts, don't grab the broom, grab the shovel. Toss it all out. In a thousand years, when some future society digs up your Ronco musical egg scrambler/window cleaner/baby-food maker, let them be the ones who waste all their time figuring out if it's worth anything.

LEGAL STUFF: All content copyright © 1996-2006 Daniel O'Leary. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication, publication, or distribution.

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He has previously written online editorials to NJ-shout.com (RIP), Great Society.org, and Songsource.com, among others. He has also been featured in ShoreGuide and AbsoluteWrite.com.

Dan is a current member of the NetWits humorist's collective.

Since his early twenties, Dan's writings have also been prominently featured on the refrigerator in his parents' home. "Sure, they make no sense," Mrs. O'Leary comments, "but we're proud of him -- no matter what everyone else says."