Memoirous

 I wrote a post or two ago about the Swedish death cleanse. As I’m sorting through cabinets, upper shelves, the office closet I’m making piles. There are as many piles as objects. Some are going straight to the garbage, while some can go anonymously to Salvation Army. Some I might try to sell or re-gift. There is a pile just called give-away—but then I wonder: Who wants my junk? Most of my friends are in the throes of doing the same thing. All those CDs, DVDs technology has erased the need for them. Millennials like the idea of records, but I gave away those long ago. All my Christmas ornaments are not appreciated as 1) my kid has money and an Amazon Prime account and will get her own and 2) besides she doesn’t celebrate a religious Christmas, so no angels, babe in a manger etc. It seems my treasures are someone else’s burden; they don’t want them either. And, then, there are Mom’s radish cups. The problem with these is that no one has the foggiest idea of what they are or wh...