There is an old saying that dates back a few hundred years:

 

“There’s a place for everything and everything in its place.”

 

It’s based on the theory that everything should have a place to be stored and that it should be tidily returned there when not in use.

 

The quote has been attributed to a number of people, including Benjamin Franklin.

 

Whoever it was, they probably didn’t have as much stuff as I have.

 

Back in the 1700s, most people had smaller houses, less storage space and fewer miscellaneous items than we have today. I’ve read that many houses in England and Colonial America had one main room and no closets.

 

But I do.

 

Recently I’ve been searching through the closets in the old farmhouse to get rid of some things I haven’t used in awhile. I figure it’s better to donate stuff than to keep it forever.

 

So far, the easiest part has been sorting clothing. I had about two dozen shirts hanging in the bedroom closet. Some I remember wearing years ago. Others I bought and never used. I kept a few and got rid of the rest. It’s the same with pants. I had at least five khaki-colored. I kept the one pair that fit and bagged the others.

 

Then there were a few jackets, shoes, sweaters and three winter coats that I got as presents over the years. They’re gone too.

 

That closet is neat and tidy now, with room for more if I ever go shopping for clothes again.

 

But then there’s the big walk-in closet in our old farmhouse with lots of shelves. It’s about five feet wide and six feet deep. For years, it’s been accumulating things that really don’t have a home.

 

And it didn’t take me long to figure out why I avoid going in there. It’s the “miscellaneous” area of the house.

 

When I was growing up in New Jersey, we had a pantry off the kitchen that was stacked with things that no one used but refused to throw away. There were boxes of old clothes, boxes of sheets, pillow cases, blankets and curtains that only my mother had the authority to get rid of. 

 

She didn’t.

 

My father, a refrigeration mechanic, stored some of his tools on the shelves. He also had some of his “projects” there - gadgets he planned to fix and sell, like small kitchen appliances, fans and even a broken soft drink system he intended to refurbish some day. 

 

He didn’t.

 

The shelves were filled with everyone else’s stuff. There were my parents and seven kids living in that house, and if anyone couldn’t find something, they’d hear the same thing - check the pantry.

 

Now I’m trying to sort through 17 years of stuff that wound up in the big closet, and not only is it time-consuming, it’s more like a treasure hunt and a trip down memory lane at the same time.

 

I’ve found things I knew I still had but had no idea where they were. Many came with me when I moved from New Jersey in 2000. I found my old baseball glove from the 1980s. (Can’t get rid of that.)

 

I found things I used to collect - baseball cards, stamps, posters and books.

 

There’s a few boxes of the West Sherburne Tribune I put away after I started working at the newspaper.

 

I found old income tax records, some well past the seven-year date. I guess I can burn some of them.

 

But the closet is also filled with other stuff - jars of nuts, bolts and screws from things I’ve taken apart an intended to put back together.

 

I never did.

 

There are old magazines, manuals from appliances I don’t have anymore, small cans of paint I couldn’t store in the garage because they’s freeze, a box of old dining room China, two boxes of miscellaneous photos, a box of greeting cards I’ve gotten from relatives dating back to the 1990s, a jar of pens, pencils and markers, and I even found an old Rolodex with phone numbers and addresses of people I can’t remember and will never call.

 

Now that I know what’s in there, I figure that stuff really isn’t in the way, so for now I’ll leave it there.

 

...everything in its place.