|NOT READY TO HAUL THESE ALBUMS TO GOODWILL.|
Relocating to Western North Carolina has required a serious look at the size of my collection. It's nearly all boxed up now, and its girth depresses and leads to a re-evaluation of my collecting habits.
It's time to downsize.
While we're moving to a larger house, My wife and I have sworn a blood oath to be more organized. The first step is meticulously going through our stuff and saying, "Do we really need this anymore?''
You know the saying, the things you own end up owning you.
|MIGHT BE TIME TO CUT THE CORD WITH THESE CUPS.|
Recently, we've trashed, donated and sold many things. But the baseball collection had not been addressed, the white elephant in the room. Let's be clear. My wife, who exudes as much pride in the collection as I, isn't insisting to get rid of anything. If I keep everything -- which includes many card sets, autographed baseballs and bats and photos and lithographs -- much of it will remain boxed.
That got me thinking.
If you never see it or desire to see it, why keep it?
|MOVING IS HELL.|
I'm not going to sell any of it until after we relocate, and a lot of what I'd be willing to part with wouldn't fetch much. Still, it would be better than hauling it to Goodwill.
For example, I have 2011, '12 and '13 complete Topps sets that I have no intention of putting into albums anytime soon. They're just taking up space.
Looking back, why the hell did I buy/build them in the first place? I guess it was fun at the time, and it provided some content for The Cardboard Examiner.
Moreover, I had this idea about 20 years ago of actually building a baseball library. I've hung on to ghost-written biographies, reference books and old magazines like first-edition works of Shakespeare.
I had this moment of clarity recently that that wasn't happening. So I backed up the F-150, dropped the gate and loaded 90 percent of that baseball library. It's probably still being cataloged at the local Goodwill as you read this.
|AT LEAST I FOUND MY MITT. I'M KEEPING IT.|
It wasn't as dramatic as Sophie's Choice, but it was an important first step. I killed some of my babies. And you know what? It empowered me.
It kinda felt good.
What's next? Donating the '75 Topps set to a thrift store in Black Mountain, N.C.? The Cal Ripken autographed bat? The Sandy Koufax ball?
Probably not. Those collectibles -- and far too many others -- still own me. But maybe not for long.