Backstory: Oh, how the stuff piles up. This is a recurring theme in this Nudges project, as I try to clear away the old and make way for the new.

Although this sounds odd for a writer and avid reader, I don’t save a lot of books. I’ve moved so many times, that I grew weary of packing, carrying, and unpacking heavy boxes. Now there’s just one shelf in my office that holds “favorites” I plan to re-read…some day. (Insert eye roll.)

This seems as good as time as any to pull them all out and consider whether I really, truly, want to re-read them or if I’m ready to let them go.

What Happened: Having helped family members clear out both grandmothers’ overflowing homes when they passed away, I dread the thought of burdening someone with doing the same when I’m gone. This is especially concerning to me since I am a childless woman, which means the task will fall possibly on a niece or nephew or, worse, a stranger who will just dump all of my “treasures” into the trash.

Before my Gram passed in 1993, she would ask me, “What do you want when I’m dead?” The question horrified me. “I’m not going to wish for your demise just so I can get your stuff!” I’d say. She finally explained to me that it would help her to know that her most precious possessions would have homes, would be saved for future generations, would be appreciated. I got that.

I was reminded of this as I pulled some childhood favorites off the shelf along with novels I’d loved and classics I hoped to better understand in a second reading. The latter two categories were moved to the stack on my nightstand, with plans to re-read them. If I love them again, they might go back on the newly cleared shelf. If I feel “done” with them, I’ll pass them along to members of my book club or put them into the bag for donations to the library.

But what to do with the Little House on the Prairie books? I had been obsessed with Laura Ingalls Wilder’s stories of pioneer living when I was in elementary school. Seeing the books reminded me of how I’d based much of my playtime on them. The redwood playhouse my father built from a kit was my “little house”, the vegetable garden was my homestead, even the swing set filled in for a wagon. Two books remained from the series, which I quickly re-read. I loved them, but I’ve outgrown them. And since I don’t have children of my own to read them to, it’s time to let them go.

I sent an email to my youngest niece, but she has already read them all. I went through my mental Rolodex of friends with young daughters, made a call, and found a friend whose family was thrilled to get them. I wrote notes to each of the girls in the front, wishing them many wonderful adventures.

Tucked in the back of the shelf was Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White. I knew the gist of the story, but didn’t recall it was a favorite, and wondered why I’d kept it for so many decades. Until I opened the front cover and discovered a note from my Gram, dated 1973. In her distinctive handwriting, she told me how much I was loved, and I felt flooded with warmth and sweet memories.

I re-read the story in one sitting and was, frankly, blown away by the clever and beautiful writing. I loved the messages about what it means to be a good friend, and I cried at the end. (No spoilers.) I then returned to the first page and placed my hand on top of my Gram’s message. As much as I treasured this, I also knew it was ready to grace a new reader’s shelf.

I sent a new email to my niece, and she accepted. Before I wrapped up the book, I added my own handwritten note, dated 2018, telling her how much she was loved.

The Ah-Hahs: It felt good to clear that shelf, even if it was just one little space. It was a start, and I hope I’ll feel motivated to tackle another shelf, then another, until I no longer feel burdened by the accumulated stuff.

But what felt even better was being able to share precious gifts with special people while I could give them in person. My Gram was right about how nice it is to see our treasures being appreciated.