Recently I read about a man who, when the contents of the family home were being divvied up between offspring, wanted to keep only one thing – his mother’s potato peeler.
The house was full of items gathered over his parents’ lifetime. For this man, the potato peeler represented all the hours his mother had spent feeding the family over the years and so he treasured the humble souvenir from the kitchen.
I won’t be leaving any potato peelers or saucepans for my children to keep. Kitchen equipment is no longer part of my life as I am in the privileged position of living with my youngest daughter and her family. Not everyone has my good fortune.
Possessions that accumulate over a lifetime can lead to a myriad of mess and problems. We know this because a thriving business community has developed to facilitate the tidying up of homes around the country. There are now decluttering therapists and home organisers who, for a fee, will step in and tackle the clutter mountain.
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On television, there are endless programmes about hoarders. I watch fascinated as Stacey Solomon in her series, Sort Your Life Out, helps families transform their homes.
It can be an emotional journey for many. I consider myself lucky because, for this octogenarian, the process of minimising my possessions so that I leave hardly anything behind when I go, has been gradual.
I have moved four times since I left the family home and each time have made a point of divesting myself of unnecessary items. I have got over that ‘it might come in handy one day’ mentality. I have friends who have lived in the same house all their married lives so, of course, the whole business of getting rid of stuff is much more complicated for them. Some of them see no reason to do so.
[ Ann Ingle: ‘People don’t think about older people as exciting’Opens in new window ]
My last move, to my current location, finds me in a room of my own which contains all I possess. It is freeing for me and in the future will be a great relief for my children when the time comes to wrap things up.
Although I can no longer read books, because of my failing eyesight, I still hold on to some of them. Those I have left are tantalising reminders of the days I spent totally immersed as I turned the pages, and it pleases me to just see them there. I disposed of many by giving them away to my children and grandchildren. I also had a mini book sale in the front garden last year, which was a great success.
In my bookcase, there is a special shelf for ornaments. I have discarded many over the years, but each one of those remaining has a special memory for me. That lovely woman in her bathing suit sitting up there, bought for me by one of my daughters in Spain; the motorbike complete with miniature clock which belonged to the brother who died four years ago; lots of birds, big and small, made from a variety of materials, just because one time I mentioned how I love them.
In another life, there would have been even more of them scattered all over the place, on mantelpieces and on the tops of sideboards, waiting to be dusted.
I have a wardrobe, cabinet, bed, cupboard, desk, television and armchair in my room. My windowsill serves as a dressing table with my hairbrush, mirror and beauty requirements, which are few these days, neatly displayed. My garden is the window box, which sits on the ledge outside my window.
I have four boxes, bought from Ikea in different colours, which look pretty and mostly contain memorabilia. I look through them now and again and discard items that no longer seem relevant. I should be down to three boxes by the end of the year.
The green box is labelled Christmas. It contains Christmas cards I couldn’t bear to part with and recipes for next year’s Christmas pudding and my special sausage rolls and mince pies. Not that I do too much cooking these days, I just supervise. One box is labelled, My Life, and is probably the most interesting one, even if I do say so myself. It contains my school reports, letters from my father and all sorts of secrets.
I imagine my journalist daughter might get her hands on that one and get some copy out of it!
My clothes are stored in the wardrobe. If I buy or am given something new, I make sure to select an older version and take it to the local charity shop. I also have storage under my bed which, I must confess, contains one or two items of clothing with special memories for me. They no longer fit, but that is not the point. I am not entirely without sentiment and there are certain things which will stay with me until I die.
I have many photographs, paintings, and pictures on my walls. They take up no space and give me great pleasure, as do the photo albums stored in the cabinet. That is also where I keep yarn and needles too. These days, I knit as I listen to audio books, so I need a constant supply.
I am 84 years old and hope to be around for a few more years. However, it pleases me to think that, as a result of all this meticulous downsizing, it will take my children no time at all to dismantle my room and leave it free to welcome a new inhabitant.
My final gift to those I leave behind is my decision to give my body to science, when the inevitable arrives. The Royal College of Surgeons have kindly agreed to swiftly and respectfully remove my remains.