A tiny, brick Victorian house built in 1871 became a home for a family of six in 2004. The belongings of the original families who took residence here didn’t begin to replicate what our family managed to bring over the threshold. Keeping things running smoothly became a challenge almost immediately. I, Mom, was in charge of this part of the household. Bless Dad; he kept us fed (and still does).
Four children under 11, including a newborn, collect an incredible amount of fodder. Toys, bicycles, Matchbox cars, Barbie dolls, Legos, glorious books, and infant gear, filled the smallest of rooms with minimal closet space. As the children grew, their needs became less and less. Gaming systems, posters, and Magic cards replaced plastic action figures and beanie babies. Clothes no longer having hand-me-down status were donated, clearing the way for fashion chosen by teenagers.
Storage spaces were almost non-existent in our small abode. With limited funds, an addition was out of the question. A little ingenuity and a lot of IKEA, ruled and saved the day. A friend hand-made, built-in bookshelves. Storage creations went vertical and tidying started in earnest. Cherished items were given places of honor in bedrooms, treasured baby clothes were saved, and order was maintained as much as possible.
The stapler is in the basket labeled ‘staplers’
One thing learned early on was if Mom was organized and put together, the days went infinitely smoother. I used to be the consummate tchotchke collector. Dozens of penguins, years of fashion magazines, hundreds of books, and every piece of clothing I thought I had to have, became stifling and overwhelming. In yearning for simplicity, something had give. I so wish my own mom were alive to see this transformation. She adored the Japanese aesthetic of minimalism before it was cool and trendy. Wherever her spirit resides now, I hear her deeply toned laughter, loving that her oldest child finally gets ‘it’.
Somewhere along the way, I read an observation that most people wore 80 percent of their clothes 20 percent of the time and 20 percent of their clothes 80 percent of the time. Being a card carrying hairdresser from New York made clothing purges fairly simple. A streamlined uniform of black was adopted early on, giving me confidence and fewer loads of laundry. I got rid of most of the 80 percent that was taking up valuable closet/drawer space and causing me to buy more huge, hideous, plastic storage bins. Although my wardrobe is still minimal, a seasonal tweak keeps things in order. As I have gotten older, I do wear colors and prints on occasion. Shoes and boots are kept to a minimum. I will pay more for one quality pair of shoes, than many pairs of lesser footwear. Does my closet ‘spark joy’? Absolutely!
As the three oldest children got on with their lives, some possessions went with them. My rule of thumb for what ‘stuff’ stays behind? “Will this go with you when you move?” If not, it has to find a new home. So far, this concept has been embraced fairly successfully, especially by my daughter Isabella. She is unsentimental about things. She told me once her goal is for her worldly goods to fit in a suitcase. What a lovely, attainable way to live.
If my home ever experienced a fire, I would make sure my husband, children, and cat were safe first. If I had time, I would then run to these two shelves and grab whatever I could carry. There are photographs of family and friends, many no longer living. Having binge watched the Netflix Marie Kondo series, I know I should make digital copies of everything. In my next major round of KonMari, maybe I will. There is just something about seeing and picking up a frame and connecting with a captured moment in time. The majority of items that make up my (mostly) tidy life are replaceable. The people, whether in a photo, or in my arms, are not.
The Materials of History, Thought, and Art 
I love the sentiment in the last part of your response. For me, photographs are one of the most sentimental objects in my life that I have nearly an impossible time parting with. After my grandmother passed away I understood more fully the way a moment can be captured in time– and how in the future that memory can open the floodgates to a past that you could never possibly get back to, no matter how earnestly you yearn for it. My father is a photographer, so I suppose that is where I have adopted my emotions towards photos. I have sat down with my grandpa, and my other grandparents on various occasions going through old photographs they possess. There is something inexplicable about that time spent together. I know that once they are no longer here to tell me the stories behind the photos the stories will be lost in time forever. I– as a rule, do not spend time on my cell phone when I am surrounded by loved ones- especially my grandparents, unless, I am taking photos of them. It was very special for me to read the sentimental value that you, too, experience with photos.
I think it’s important for people to remember that most of the objects they have are replaceable. Objects that have sentimental value always feel like they’re one of a kind, but that usually isn’t actually the case. A few summers ago, my parents’ house had a pipe burst underneath the kitchen sink, causing water to collect underneath the floorboards which eventually collapsed into the living room downstairs bringing hundreds of gallons of water with it. The house was empty for over 10 hours, and the level of water downstairs was unimaginable. Everything that was on the floor was ruined. Shoes, CDs, books, papers, records. All things that had basically been in storage, were not salvageable. My family and I were crushed in the beginning, losing so many of our belongings, but it was my mom who made us realize that they were all just material objects that could be replaced if we really wanted them that badly. Some old photos, yearbooks, and school projects were lost, but we realized that we didn’t need physical objects to define a time in our lives. It’s also important to realize that material objects we cherish do have the potential to be taken away from us, and we need to be okay with that.