Recipes for Sussex Pond Pudding and sugarplums I've held onto for decades but never made. The inserts that came with albums I no longer have. Tarot cards I forgot I had. Three colors of sand. A Time magazine about 1968. My wedding vows. A 2019 receipt for $114.12 worth of crystals. The veil from my first communion. Photos, slides, and strips of negatives. The bill for building out the last part of my skoolie. Cards, letters, and artwork from my children. Zip lock bags of lace and ribbon. Shoes I thought I'd already given away. Printouts of long-ago rituals. Glue sticks. An enamel pan. A miniature version of my mother's cedar chest. Antlers. Fabric paint. Report cards. Birthday candles. A handful of magazines from the two years I was its editor. Recipe cards in my mother's handwriting.

That's only a tiny sample of what I am sorting and purging, day after day – following more than a month of nonproductive numbness. It's been physically and emotionally draining. What didn't get jettisoned after selling my condo were things I have loved for decades and letting them go now, I know that I will never see again – except in photos.

I have 13 days to complete my purging and packing before pushing off for my annual trip south. I still don't know what to do with my digital Nikon that won't focus, my large cauldron, the antlers from the first deer my dad got with his bow, patchwork quilts, and vintage tablecloths when I no longer have a table.

Again, it's after midnight as I clear off the bed and make a to-do list for the coming days.