Making the Cut

There was a time a few years ago when I told my daughter I had just cleaned out the garage.
the sceptic known as my daughter asked just what I had thrown out and I replied, "A flower pot."
Listen. it was a big flower pot. Anyway, her little girl was sitting across us at a Wendy's booth at that moment and my poor little grandchild was royally sprayed with a  mouthful of coca cola.
That burst of laughter happened because I have developed a reputation as a pack rat.
Just so you know, I am getting so much better that there is an empty drawer in my dresser. So that's progress.And that brings me to today's discussion.

I'm sorting through things, room by room.

This chunk of amethyst--well, it stays. Number four son found this on a hike somewhere in the Sudbury area. It's also my birthstone so I can't part with that. 
There is that moment when the sun catches on a fragment and it's heart-stopping beautiful.

This is Guairn;  on our way too buy a stained glass panel we spotted Guairn  in an art shop window and we forgot about the stained glass. My daughter named him; we have no idea why that name.
He is noted for his ability to seemingly puff on a cigarette while smoke spews out of his nostrils, although that sort of parlor trick is frowned upon these days. He's really not displayed well on this shelf but when we place him on the floor where he really belongs, some kid comes along and steps on his toes, which causes immediate amputation. He'll stay there a while longer.

I bought these cats at an auction but a ninety-something friend tells me that in her childhood, the cat patterns were stamped on a square of cotton and tucked in Quaker Oats boxes for the housewife to stitch up. How sweet is that? They take up premium space but now that my real live cats are gone, these little guys do their best to be of pet service.

So they stay.

Okay they made the cut but I did throw out a jar of three-year old candy and sent an armload of books to the thrift store.

So that's progress--right?