Swedish Death Cleaning

19 days to move abroad

Black and white photos of grandparents in a pewter frame.

Preparing to move during the holidays

might as well be The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party in Alice in Wonderland on repeat.

Who can say where the decorations end

and the clutter begins?

Charming purse with a bee embroidered on to a daisy and a gold chain strap.

What worth do my

🎁 old New Yorker magazines,

🎁 or my collection of Broadway Playbills dating back to 1983,

🎁 or my eclectic repurposed clothing designs, like my 1950s black velvet dress, my 1970s gold lame body suit converted to 1950s pinup ensemble, or my awesomely rad, 1980s, 100% cotton plaid jeans that I would totally rock if I were 90 lbs thinner,

🎁 or the porcelain fairy doll that looks like Lily Tomlin,

🎁 or the Albert Einstein action figure still in its packaging

have to anyone but me?

Then again, there’s a collector for everything but little time to find them.

I’m sorting through 40 boxes of photo albums I inherited,

knowing I am the only person still living who remembers these people.

If I throw them out, will they be forgotten forever?

If they are forgotten, will that set them free to reincarnate and start anew?

Discarding photos feels sacrilegious to the very definition of sentimentality, madman territory!

There are so many pictures, and yet never enough of those we long to hold again.

We don’t know until the passage of time which pictures or items will mean the most to us.

It’s a heartbreaking ache of human impermanence to destroy what was once so precious.

Most of our stuff stopped being useful when we could no longer access it easily.

When you live on a fixed or limited income, you keep things longer than you should

because you never know if or when you will be able to purchase them again.

Ironically—efficiency, simplicity, and minimalism are all hallmarks of abundance.

It takes a certain degree of wealth to live confidently and sufficiently

in the appearance of genteel poverty.

Sorting through these piles of things, I feel like Scrooge roaming cobblestone streets holding a lantern in one hand and the ghosts of Christmas Past with the other.

Boxes and bags abound—my mantra remains steady

“I don’t want to ever have this many possessions again in my life…

… and the gremlin of jesters speaks in a crackly voice unseen …

“unless I live in a castle and there’s ample space and need for it all.”

Impromptu Haiku

Swedish death cleaning

Strangles and releases me

Too much stuff kills us

~~~

How does this happen?

Is this just an American phenomenon?

A product of capitalistic consumerism?

Or does this happen everywhere in the world?

“What’s it all about, Alfie?

Is it just for the moment we live?”

I’ve been enamored with minimalism,

yet lived like a pack rat for most of my life.

I love spending time in my camper in nature,

where there’s only one set of utensils and dishes per person.

Yet I also love having a home base with an assortment of pretty platters

to host and entertain.

I can no longer feed both wolves within.

~~~

This is my third round of Swedish Death Cleaning!

How do we continue to accumulate more when we have been living on less?

I can blame obligatory gifts, but that sounds so ungrateful.

How are we to communicate honestly with gentle kindness that the gifts of money for necessities and experiences are far preferred to gifts of “things,” if honesty in any form in modern society is received as rude ingratitude?

~~~

The first time we did Swedish Death Cleaning was to flee the stalker in 2011.

After multiple garage sales and drop offs to donation centers,

we rented a giant rubbish bin,

enough for the entire block’s garbage,

filled it twice over with medical files, old tax receipts, and decades of career memorabilia from two artists—miles of discarded unfinished documentary footage and mountains of cassette tapes with song ideas that will never be played or remembered.

We felt tremendous guilt for what our artistic creations were contributing to landfills.

From left to right: IKEA glass book cases (3), Pedestal pine table with extender and four turquoise chairs seats 4-6, treadmill with adjustable height desk, cherry wood table with extenders, seats 8-10, brown striped chairs, white wooden 6 drawer dresser, massage/reiki table.

The second time was after my “death diagnosis” in 2013.

At least half of our belongings were given to friends,

donated to the community,

or put in consignment stores.

Still we kept too much in case our daughter wanted it “when she grew up.”

What do I do with

☑️ my wedding gown or my grandmother’s in those expensive, bulky boxes we paid far too much for to preserve them in,

☑️ all of the journals and diaries I’ve kept since childhood,

☑️ the thousands of negatives of film,

☑️ old computers and devices we have yet to scrub our personal info from?

This time, our Swedish Death Cleaning is to leave America in search of a more affordable living in 2026.

The focus is streamlined—we are keeping what we need…

✅ seasonal shoes and clothing,

✅ our artistic creations: my writing, his music, her filmmaking props,

✅ cozy blankets, camping equipment, office supplies, toolbox (practical items we need),

✅ the basics for kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and essential living,

✅ medical devices and physical therapy tools (yoga mat, spike ball, etc.),

✅ maybe our beds, a few core pieces of furniture, possibly appliances and perhaps our instruments.

There’s magic in the mayhem

Melodies in the memories

Nonattachment (in theory only)

Where is my practice when I need it most?

I know which KonMari, “spark joy,” non-essential things I plan to hang on to.

It’s still too much and will need to be placed in storage until we find our forever home,

but the joy they bring me is so great I can’t help smile just typing them here.

💗 Cherished pewter frame collection holding images of those I love,

💗 photo albums I can’t leave behind,

💗 the belly cast from when I was pregnant,

💗 every card my husband wrote me,

💗 every piece of artwork my daughter made me,

💗 finger painting by my Great niece, Athena,

💗 mismatched collection of porcelain teacups, pots, and whimsical ornate napkin ring holders for tiny celebrations with people I haven’t met yet,

💗 world globes and maps of the places I want to be and the books, music, and films that take me there when my body cannot,

💗 glamorous black hat given to me by my husband’s grandmother,

💗 thin, sparkly, crisp scarf from my mother-in-law,

💗 Great Aunt Mary Ellen’s black patent leather clutch and brown lucite bracelet from the 1950s,

💗 Great-Grandma’s tablecloths and aprons for a waistline that will never fit my own,

💗 striking large diamond shaped green vase, pretty oblong peacock platter, and functional blue wooden trays I bought for myself just because their beauty inspires me,

💗 Aunt Pam’s painting of fairies and mushrooms she made for me when I was a child,

💗 the watercolor portrait my high school best friend painted of me and my ghost daughter,

💗 Granma’s typewriter to keep the writer in me observant of all I have to be grateful for,

💗 Papa’s cameras to keep the photographer in me present to witness the beauty of life,

💗 the copper tins they received as a wedding gift that my daughter has claimed as her own,

💗 the stoneware whale mug and the square spoon holder I use daily. Someone made this precious 2x2 inch piece of blue glass by hand and never retrieved it, so it was donated to a thrift store where I found it and have lovingly used it for years across states and too many moves to mention. Imagining someone else loving the things I need to discard, as much as I love this square glass spoon holder, helps me to let go of what I can no longer justify holding on to.

💗 Special Christmas ornaments we began collecting in 1989,

💗 one pair on my old ballet pointe shoes (but not the tap shoes),

💗 brain games I played with as a child in lieu of toys; the traveling chess tournament set I still use,

💗 special gifts from close friends (the healing modalities from Kat, the quilt from Teri, the ballet barre from Perry, the poem from Leah, the sweater from Lisa, the photo from Tony, the painting from Agnes, the hand carved table from Rick, the photos from Kathy, the letter from Ken).

💗 the directors chair that has Sage Words embroidered on it and the old Academy Player’s Directories from the 1990s when my picture was listed in a Hollywood yearbook on the same page as Uma Thurman and Lea Thompson, when we were all ingenues—reminding me that even though I did not become the Hollywood legend everyone told me I would be, I pursued the dreams that never came true with untamed passion and boldness: a courage that cannot be taken from me and has served me in all other pursuits.

…

💗 and this lamp,

she says, with a wink to The Jerk.

Collection of vintage handbags, costume jewelry (more to come), New Yorker magazines, 1980s acid wash jeans, costume jewelry with gem stones, troll dolls, copper collection, Disney collection, Harry Potter Book Set (never used), 1980 Hello Kitty pencil case, best shoes ever.

What do we do with the non-exhaustive list—the infamous stash—of “valuable collectibles”

that we’ve always planned to sell on Etsy

because we know there is someone looking for

❤️ a fragment of The Berlin Wall (from the hands of my friend who helped take it down),

❤️ vintage Enid Collins box purse (that may have once held an infamous 1913 Liberty Head Nickel),

❤️ a 1980 Hello Kitty pencil case,

❤️ Disney, Disney, Disney memorabilia.

❤️ a milk glass platter from the 1940s,

❤️ acid washed jeans from 1986,

❤️ and a camera from 1906.

… Just the tip of the stored collection.

Vintage handbags, camera, costume jewelry, pewter brush, comb, and mirror set, custom Gloria Swanson earrings, and Marie Antoinette necklace.

People say, “Take pictures of the things you treasure to make it easier to let them go,”

as if that’s some sort of realistic comfort or functional alternative to keeping items we’ve invested a lifetime storing for the prized moment they find their wanted place.

Soon we will live in boxes we call homes with “pictures of the pictures.”

Cloud storage hoarders will be as much of an issue as physical storage hoarders.

~~~

We keep the items that allow us to travel through time,

to bridge one generation to the next,

so that we may never forget

all we choose to remember.

I linger too long on a box containing my grandmother’s bowling pins. (She played semi-pro.)

This will never mean as much to anyone else as it means to me, and I don’t even like the game;

but letting them go is letting another piece of her go, and I don’t have many pieces left to let go of.

~~~

The white rabbit is in my face.

He’s tapping his pocket watch at me and repeating,

“No time to say hello, goodbye.”

He’s so irritating, this guy.

Without much attention to what I’m doing,

I find myself mindlessly petting his fur while decorating the holiday tree as I remark with a laugh,

“Look at this treasure we shall delight in for a few moments each year

and then pay to leave in storage the rest of our lives.”

I turn my back on Christmas and gasp

as I lay my eyes upon the mounds upon mounds of stuff that still needs sorting.

“I’m buried under an embarrassment of discounted riches,”

I say with equal notes of shame and gratitude.

Nearly everything I own is a hand-me-down from an ancestor, a thrift store, or IKEA.

I don’t keep it just for its questionable value,

but also because I don’t have the resources of time to re-home it responsibly.

Stores like Goodwill trash a fair amount of the items they receive;

now we donate to discriminating shelters instead.

Living in survival mode, rush culture doesn’t allow time to manage maintenance thoughtfully.

~~~

This is why we stopped buying each other gifts in 2007.

Every item we bring into our home could ideally be done with intention

and the exit plan in place for its eventual eviction, as in…

“For each new item that comes in, one most go out.”

It’s nice in theory, but is it practical?

By the time we think of the item we will let go of in order to bring in something new…

we have either talked ourselves out of the new item or ignored our voice of reason

to justify an impulse buy to have something new.

I’m waving a white flag, requesting assistance to surrender!

The more stuff we own,

the more our stuff owns us;

and right about now, my tuchus is feeling pretty darned owned!

I’ve paid far more in storage and rent for places to hold these things

than they were ever worth monetarily.

Why?

Because it’s the memory not the thing that has the value.

Because the fear of needing and not having holds me hostage.

Ethan Allen armoire with matching writing desk, 8 foot by 4 foot gorgeous mother of pearl framed mirror and portable dance floor, beautiful upright black shiny piano, compact swivel recliner for home or RV.

~~~

Alice from Wonderland is in the corner growing and shrinking with each hidden treasure she finds.

She’s picking doodads up and setting them down a little too carelessly for my taste.

How is it that I still feel protective over that which I plan to discard?

~~~

“Why do I have so much stuff?” I ask myself sincerely.

“Because you have lost so many people,” the voice within retorts.

“Both those dead, and those still living who are gone

left empty spaces in your psyche

that you filled with physical symbols to give your life meaning

to be a ‘stand in’ of consistency

for the fickle humans who lacked the courage to commit

or those who demonstrated the fragility of life by passing away,”

my higher self says gently, in the ever so annoyingly helpful way.

~~~

Then my fear based, ego driven persona chimes in, with that “band camp” speech cadence

“Someday, you will have a grandchild

who will want to play in your closet

and you’ve been saving all this for them.

Think of the non-existent children, save it all for them.”

It’s true.

More than one prom dress came from my grandmother’s sister’s closet

and that inheritance was a delight.

But so too did enough glassware to cater a 500-guest wedding,

and linens to cover a B & B,

40 boxes of sentimental photo albums,

several pieces of furniture,

and more things than I can count.

Gifts are double edged swords;

the burden of possession is being possessed by that which you possess.

~~~

The ghost of my career screeches in my high school acting teacher’s voice,

imagine Howard Walowitz’s mother,

“Don’t you dare get rid of your costume, wig, hats, and props chests.

The minute you do, you will find yourself teaching improv,

or performing another one-woman-show,

and lamenting how if only you’d kept these things

you wouldn’t be schlepping a bag of fakakta tchotchkes

through the mashugana subway from Staten Island into the city.”

Where’s the lie? I ask. She isn’t wrong.

~~~

“Remember your regrets from last time,”

the spirit of past moves wails

like the siren on the sea sailors warn us to ignore.

💔10,000 books,

💔 a thousand vinyl records,

💔 hundreds of CDs and DVDs,

💔 the heavy marble bedroom set from Italy.

~~~

I started my home library in 1984,

when I read the book 1984,

and was terrified the world would become what it has: digitized,

where every history is re-written,

and books are banned,

and no one ever knows the true ending of anything ever again.

I thought my renegade library would save humanity.

Alas, our pulminologist said that the dust in books can kill children

who’d been hospitalized as ours had with pneumothorax.

So we gave them all away;

and with them the preservation of history, as we knew it.

~~~

If I can bequeath one thing to anyone,

it is the gift of nothingness.

Rethink gift giving, impulse buying, and ownership in general.

Shoot for minimalism and land in normalcy and communal property.

At the very least, make all gifts tiny enough to fit in the palm of your hand,

or mad money that burns a hole in our pocket as it slips through your fingers

with the freedom to buy without budgeting.

If you want to give a gift, pay off someone’s medical bills, or educational tuition, or rent, or groceries.

Live with the least amount of material possessions as you can and decorate your passport instead.

Freedom is being free and having stuff weighs us down.

Think of Gandhi before you buy that next novelty item,

“live simply so that others can simply live.”

~~~

I’ve lost years of my life and thousands of dollars in shuffling stuff;

deluding myself with storage systems,

believing that as long as it was organized, it was worth keeping.

This is where George Carlin’s brilliant bit

about needing to buy a bigger house to store more stuff

begins to play on repeat like

a deprogrammer trying to wake me up from the cult of consumerism.

~~~

The longer I hold on to the item, the more I justify continuing to do so.

The only way I can trick myself into swallowing the loss

is to look at each item, not as an investment to keep but as an experience it gave me.

Now, it’s time to pass this experience on to others.

I step into nature and hear the centered voice within whisper,

“Breathe. Through the process you have come to wholeness

and no longer need or desire so many things.

Saying goodbye to the people, things, or ideas we’ve outgrown

is saying goodbye to the parts of ourselves we have outgrown.

It’s time to let go.

Some people find goodbyes easier than others.

You, my dear, have always been an overly sentimental blubbering mess when it comes to endings.

I gift you permission to utilize The Irish Goodbye, for today.”

~ ~ ~

Thanks for reading. If you see anything you’d like to purchase and you’re in the Los Angeles or Orange County, California area (between Disneyland and Long Beach), please reach out (preferably) by January 29, 2026 and make a fair offer. Or check out our daughter’s Etsy store TRUSTED VINTAGE GIFTS, where 100% of the profits go to her education and she adds to it regularly. Thanks.

After I witnessed an unknown poet have her work usurped, I was given the legal advice to place the following © date and statement on all my work: This concept/theory/poem is original to Sage Justice © January 1, 2026. If you use it, please give credit and link to original work. Thank you. www.SageWords.org

Sage Justice is an award-winning poet, author, critically acclaimed performing artist, and intensely sincere, bold humanitarian activist.

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