The sneaky quality of stuff

It is a mystery to me how easily "stuff" makes it's way into a home.  Despite my best efforts to keep it at bay -  it still finds a way in.  

I like to think that I am one who controls the clutter.   I go through our house at regular intervals (seasonal shifts) and move things along.  I give myself over to the naive hope that maybe this time it will stick.  Maybe there will be no more dollar store based loot bags.  Maybe my kids will quit their eternal quest to grow taller.   Maybe I will sew up my fabric stash before I buy more.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  

 All I know for sure is that with each bag and box that I fill to go out, my conviction of wanting less becomes stronger.  There is a weight that goes along with accumulating - it is unseen but as sure as I breathe, it is present.   

We are moving to a small house.  An 1860's kind of house.  A house from a time before the advent of closets.  A house without a basement.  There will be no place to hide.   And with this in mind, I make my way through my current digs - questioning my motivation for keeping even the smallest of items.   The keepers are obvious.