The Journey

One message that was driven home for me over and over during the course of the Downsizing Challenge was that the journey is just as important as the destination.

This fact hung in my mind today as we launched a brand new school here in Denver. We opened the doors of SOAR Charter School to 240 eager kindergarten, first, and second grade students and their families.

I could go on and on about what makes SOAR different from a traditional public school or why I am so excited to be a part of it, but it is most easily summed up by this:

The journey is just as important as the destination.

In an age of school accountability in which school performance is measured in one way (by a narrow set of standardized test scores), it is an act of subversion to say that HOW we teach matters. To say, "Yes we will teach our children to score well on those tests but we will not sacrifice their dignity, their autonomy, their creativity to do so," is a radical call to action.

Just call us radicals.

At our school, the most important question a parent can ask their child isn't "What did you learn today?" but, rather, "How did you feel about your learning today?"

How the children get to the end of their school careers is just as important as what they know when they get there.

Likewise, a year ago I could have torn through my house, found 365 things I could live without, and lugged them off to the dump. There, a year of downsizing in just one afternoon.

But, of course, such an action would have completely missed the point. Indeed, throughout the year, I met several people who, after hearing about the challenge, said something like, "Oh, I do that, too. Every spring I get rid of a bunch of stuff."

Which is to say that THEY DON'T DO ANYTHING EVEN REMOTELY CONNECTED TO THE DOWNSIZING CHALLENGE. To commit to a process, to say I shall make this a part of my daily life and learn and grow and change because of it is completely different than just throwing a big pile of stuff out.

The Downsizing Challenge was a wonderful way for me to get in touch with my life journey over the course of the year. The fact that I rid myself of some PEZ dispensers, firewood, or a record collection really doesn't matter.

What matters is that I've had a heck of a lot of fun along the way.

The bottom line

Six dollars and seventy-three cents per day.

Over the last year, my downsizing gig payed $6.73 a day. Not bad, I don't think.

Sure, if I had to support a family on it, things would be a little tight, but, considering that it was all supplemental income, I think it's commendable.

Since the beginning, I've tracked what my downsizing sales have taken in, but I never kept a running tally. I had a few requests along the way to publish what I had made so far, but never got around to doing the math.

I rarely get around to doing math.

I also spent a fair amount, too, mostly in postage, but I didn't even bother to keep formal records on that.

Note to my cousin Amy, who has embarked on her own Downsizing Challenge: I recommend keeping a running budget along the sidebar of your blog. Folks love to peek into your financials.

Curious, myself, about what my final take was, I've spent the last two evenings meticulously going through the archives to add up all that I made and subtract all that I spent. Here, are the positive and negative sides of the ledger:

Income

• Craigslist: $1,135
• eBay: $728 (after subtracting eBay and PayPal fees)
• Other: $329.05 (mostly two big sales of cloth diapers to friends)
• Yard Sale: $300
• Bull Moose Music: $85.62
• Returns: $30.34
• TOTAL: $2,608.01

Outgo

• Postage: $111.75 (that's a really rough estimate)
• Chemical recycling: $40
• TOTAL: $151.75

That leaves me with a net gain of $2,456.26 or, as mentioned above, an average of $6.73 a day.

The number would be far more impressive if I also included the profit from the sale of our house, but that seems to transcend the spirit of these other sales, so I've left it out. Besides, I don't want the IRS to know what we actually made on that deal.

I was rather shocked to see the craigslist total, but it certainly shows how the internet has made marketing and sales accessible to anyone. A market out there exists for just about anything, and services like craigslist can help anyone access it. Most impressive is that every cent of craigslist sales went into my pocket.

eBay, while allowing us to tap into a far larger market, has the downside of a) charging a commission for using the service, and b) necessitating shipping, which eats into profits. Thus, I was a little surprised that I didn't net more than $728. If I could have sold those same items for the same price on craigslist, the total would have been somewhere in the $1,100 range. Oh, what could have been.

What I don't regret is the money I spent on postage ($111.75) as I mailed downsized items to friends and family. By my count, I had at least twenty-eight days on which I mailed off something to someone, usually without even telling them it was coming. Every time I did it, I envisioned the fun they would have opening the surprise package. In this electronic age, I think we all get a special thrill out of physical mail arriving on our doorstep. I would have gladly spent double that in order to spread those emotions.

I certainly didn't enter the downsizing challenge with the intent of profiting from it, but in the end I actually feel like I made out like a bandit. After all, a year ago, if someone had offered me six dollars a day to maintain a blog, I would have jumped at the chance. Have fun and make money? Sign me up!

Plus, once I finally sell the book rights to this experience, I'm really going to be rolling in the Benjamins.

Just a little off

When I first started the blog, I envisioned keeping track of the types of downsizes I completed.

I quickly discovered that even the free Blog sites are amazingly versatile. I, naturally, am partial to Blogger, but there are many others -- I encourage you to shop around before you begin your blog tomorrow, Dear Readers.

A little experimentation revealed that I could add links, pictures, opportunities for people to "follow" me, track visitors, and even include a year-long countdown on my front page. What I could not do, at least not without an advanced degree from MIT, was create a simple bar graph that visually represented how I was downsizing. From the first day I included a side bar entitled How am I downsizing? in which I categorized that day's downsize. I always intended to switch that over to a more impressive bar graph, but could never figure out how.

As a side note, I made the choice early on to count all of the downsizes from a given day only once. My rationale was that the challenge was, at it's heart, more about doing something daily than ridding myself of a set number of items. Plus, when I recycled an entire box of old school files on Day 2, I couldn't figure out whether that should count as one or a thousand. Easier to stick with the ol' binary code.

This meant that on days when I downsized in multiple ways -- such as both trashing and recycling items -- I needed to make a call about which category in which to count the event. I generally defaulted to the category that had the larger number of items.

Yesterday, after taking a few days off from blogging -- oh, sweet freedom! -- I tallied up my How am I downsizing? chart to discover, highly unsurprisingly, that the numbers didn't add up to the 365 days of the challenge. My Masters Degree may be in literacy, but I do know that 364 does not equal 365.

This led me to pull out a yellow table and, over an hour, go back through every post to determine the definitive How am I downsizing? totals.

With the blog numbers corrected, I took a few moments to ponder the tally. Here are a few observations:

• Precisely one-third of my downsizing days (121) involved giving things away. Being a giver feels good.


• Another eight percent of the downsizes (28) were donations, meaning that over forty percent of my days in the last year have involved giving things to others with the intention of helping or pleasing them. Being a giver feels very good.


• Fifteen percent (55) of my items were recycled. The issue here is that as important as we all know recycling is, I think we still don't really know what it is. I put things in a magical plastic bin, they go off to some mysterious facility and the world's solid waste and global warming problems are solved? Ah, I don't think so.

Which brings me to...

• My second most frequently used method of downsizing was tossing stuff into the trash. On nineteen percent of the days (69), I just threw crap out. While I am willing to take full responsibility for this travesty, it speaks loud and clear about how we are still far too entrenched in a consumer-culture built within a disposable world. I clearly need to redouble my efforts to launch a campaign centered around pushing companies to take more responsible for helping us to recycle the products they profit from. Please vote for me.

But, regardless of how I downsized, at least the numbers add up to 365.

The day after

What a wonderful day. While I carry the lessons of Downsizing with me, it was rather pleasant to not have to think, for one moment, about what I would get rid of today. And, in fact, I didn't get rid of a thing.

Rather, I spent a delightlful day with my Beautiful Bride and Brilliant Son. We walked around the farmer's market, splashed about in the swimming pool, and had dinner with friends.

There's still plenty of downsizing in my future -- turns out that once you start looking, there's plenty to get rid of -- but it doesn't have to happen daily, and I don't need to write about it. I do, however, have a number of wrap-up posts that I will be writing. I hope, Dear Readers, that you will stick around for those.

In the meantime, I am absolutely giddy with excitement over this little annoucement. My cousin Amy, one of my most loyal followers and frequent commenters, has launched her own year-long downsizing quest.

That's right, downsizing lives on!

She didn't even miss a day -- her challenge began today. So, Dear Readers, blow this popsicle joint and get over to Amy's blog: Downsizing Too.

I bet it promises to be an even more entertaining year than I gave you.

Three Peas in a Pod

7/31/10 Paper mâché pea pod, trashed

Three hundred sixty-four days ago, I began the Downsizing Challenge by thinking of family. The first item I parted with was a stuffed animal, given to my nephew James, who had the good sense to have a birthday on Day 1 of the Challenge.

That's serendipity. Read on for more.

Today, I wrap the whole experiment up with another family downsize: a paper mâché pea pod crafted by my mother and given to us at our pre-Chase baby shower.

I believe it was my sister Katie who said Joanna and I were "two peas in a pod" and that became one of the themes of the party. Our cake had fondant pea pods on top of it, and every guest got a paperwhite bulb with two glass beads in the flowerpot representing two peas. The centerpiece was this oversized paper mâché pea pod, which has remained front and center in our lives ever since.

Back in the Casco Cabin, we placed it on the windowsill above the sink, the place with the highest sight-count in the entire house.

When we moved into our temporary digs on Sebago Lake, the pea pod came with us, and took up residence there on the kitchen window sill.

For the drive across country, I put it on the dashboard of my car, where it slid off into my father's lap every time I took a left-hand turn. After 300 miles, I finally taped it down, and then it successfully led the way to Denver.

And here, in our apartment, it occupied a position of honor on the kitchen counter, a constant reminder of the love that undergirds my life.

Through eight months of downsizing, knick knacks fell left and right, but the pea pod survived.

I don't part with homemade gifts from my mother lightly. Just ask Joanna about the giant foam core Red Sox cat that mom created for me after the Red Sox won the '04 World Series. That ain't going anywhere.

But, I needed something truly significant for today, the final day of the Challenge.

Chase was born on January 15, and, of course, it changed my life.

Joanna and I will be together for the next sixty-two years (I'm definitely living to 100), but we'll never just be two peas in a pod anymore. With the Cajun/Colorado/Maine Critter around, we're now officially three peas in a pod.

This morning, this little triple team took a drive over to 2089 Uinta Street, the site of our future home. On the final day of downsizing, it made sense to visit the location of the biggest upsize of my life. And guess what? The construction crew broke ground yesterday. As this year-long odyssey comes to a close, the next big chapter of these three peas' lives begins.

That's the serendipity I was talking about. "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

We took the pea pod along to officially bid it goodbye. (Although, rather than trashing it, Chase seemed pretty intent on trying to eat it.)

Of course, ultimately, even the house doesn't matter. Like the pea pod, it's just a thing, and if there's one lesson that the Downsizing Challenge has taught me, it's that things just aren't that important.

I've got Joanna and Chase and, a little farther away, better family and friends than any man deserves.

As long as I have all of those people, I can let anything else go.

It turns out, when you've got enough love, downsizing is really easy.

Thank you, Dear Readers, for a great year.

The Penultimate Downsize (Soldiers of Fortune)

7/30/10 Franklin Mint Soldiers of the World's Greatest Armies set of fifty pewter figurines, sold on eBay for $270

This downsize is perfect for the penultimate post. With 363 days behind me and only one to go, getting rid of this collection of figurines really highlights so much of what this challenge has been about. Here's why:

1) This was unique. Fifty pewter soldiers, representing armies from around the world and across multiple millennia. It was issued by the Franklin Mint and released, one figure at a time, over four years. A Google search did not turn up another single collection. Rare, indeed. Ask yourself: How easy is it to downsize something that uncommon?

2) This was valuable. My grandmother bought this back in 1980, and she managed to save the individual receipts from all but six of the figures. Each receipt showed the purchase price of each soldier: $23.50. That adds up to $1,175, not counting tax or shipping & handling. And those are in 1980 dollars. A potential one-of-a-kind collection that was bought for over a grand thirty years ago. Can you say "college fund"? Ask yourself: How easy it is to downsize something that valuable?

3) This was a gift. For reasons that are still murky, my grandmother bought this collection for me before I even hit my teens. Regardless of her motivations, I am saddled with the fact that it was a heart-felt gift. She bought it for me with the belief that I would cherish it forever. Oh, the guilt. Ask yourself: How easy it is to downsize something that someone gave you with such love?

4) This was a challenge to get rid of. When we have something of value, even if we don't want it, we feel invested in getting fair compensation for it. Sure, Nanna shelled out over a thousand for this, but how the heck could I find someone else willing to pay that king of bling for it? Putting it all up on eBay, with pictures, shipping costs, and enticing descriptions was a time-suck during a rather busy month. Not to mention that packing and shipping the figures, complete with glass-front display case, was a logistical nightmare. Ask yourself: How easy is it to do the work of this downsize?

This represents the Downsize Paradox. Given all of the above, the soldier set was absolutely ridiculous for me to keep, yet virtually impossible for me to part with.

But, here we are, just over twenty-four hours from fulfilling the challenge. Three hundred sixty-five consecutive days of setting things free. The whole point of this past year (or at least one darn good point) is that we MUST let go of those things that scream, "Never give me up!"

It's unique? Valuable? A heart-felt gift? A hassle to sell? It's just wrong to let it go?

That's why it has to be downsized.

In the end, I entered a Zen state, posted the collection as an auction on eBay starting at ninety-nine cents -- yes, Dear Readers, the bidding began at less than a dollar-- and felt at peace.

In the words of Bill Murry in the classic film Meatballs, "It just doesn't matter, it just doesn't matter!"

The collection sold to a guy in New York State for $270. ($300 if you include shipping. No, despite all I've learned, I never solved the problem with eBay).

As it all comes to a close, let's recap this symbolic downsize: I gave up an heirloom, lost a whole lot of money, forsook my grandmother's wishes, and wasted a lot of time and energy doing it all.

That's what I call a successful downsize.

It just doesn't matter.

Photo Op(ortunity)

7/29/10 Photographs, given away

My new job presents a tremendous opportunity, and Colorado is proving to be a place I could easily fall in love with.

But, let's be very clear about this: We absolutely would NOT have moved to Denver if it wasn't for my great friend -- and brother in everything except blood -- Marc.

I was roommates with Marc for five years and then lived near him in New York for another four. So, the last seven years in Maine have represented a time of buddy withdrawal. The chance to relocate a few blocks away from him was too good to pass up.

And so, I saved an appropriate downsize for the day before the day before the Challenge ends. This marks the last time during this year of culling that I shall get rid of pictures. Always an emotional and difficult downsize, but made easier when you get to laugh at your best friend.

The photographic evidence suggests that Marc has spent most of our friendship sleeping, often with his hand down his pants.

I guess we get along because we have common interests.

He and his wife got a few good laughs this afternoon as I handed over the pictures, and I kept enough to ensure I can always get a chuckle when I need it.

Then, this evening, Joanna, Chase, and I took an evening stroll around the neighborhood. Eventually, we ended up walking by Marc & Gianna's home and, before you could say "Welcome to Mayberry," I was helping Marc mow the lawn and their kids were playing with Chase.

Who needs pictures? Whenever I want to see my best friend, I can just walk down the street.

The biggest losers

7/28/10 Seventeen cat toys, trashed

In the year since I began the Downsize Challenge, a lot of fantastic things have happened to me.

I had a terrific final year as the Literacy Coach at Guy E. Rowe Elementary, making a serious difference in the lives of both children and teachers.

Despite the-sky-is-falling recession, I sold my house quickly and for a higher price than the realtor wanted to start the listing at.

I moved to a really cool city and am having a wonderful house built for my family.

I celebrated the seventh year of marriage to my Beautiful Bride.

I landed a new job that will challenge me as I've never been challenged before and will also prove to be the most worthwhile work of my life.

And, of course, I became a father. How 'bout that Brilliant Boy?!?

But, amid all of this joy, not everyone in the family has had such a great year. For our amazing cats -- and, I stand by the fact that Bird and Trane are the two best cats in the world -- this has been one, tough ride.

And I'm not just talking about the week they spent cooped up in carriers as we drove across country.

Chase's arrival took our attention completely off the cats, and their banishment from our bedroom was especially disconcerting to them. They've been troopers, but moving out of our house and into one small apartment (in Maine) and then into an even smaller space (here in Denver) has taken a heavy toll.

Both cats have lost weight, Trane obsessively chases his tail (a completely new behavior), and they have taken to flying around the apartment with schizophrenic abandonment.

Side note: as I write this, Trane has jumped up into my lap. No matter what we do, they don't stop giving love.

Joanna and I keep telling each other that once Chase is a little bit older we'll let the cats back into the bedroom and that once we move into our new home they'll have all the space they need.

But, of course, they don't know that.

In that last week, I've decided that I need to set aside time every day to play with the cats. Even though I wanted to hurry home to see Chase before he went to bed, this evening I swung by a pet store and bought some new toys for Bird and Trane.

Ironically, unlike most of us humans, the cats don't really care all that much for possessions; what they really want is love and attention. Still, isn't it typical that when we want to show someone we care for them, we buy them something? Guess I'm just falling back into old, pre-downsizing habits.

Fortunately, one of the goodies was a hit, and I spent a good ten minutes running back and forth through our apartment with the felines on my tail.

I also tossed a whole bag of run-down, ignored playthings into the trash. These guys deserve the best, even if we don't always act like they do.

Be patient, kitties. I'll make it all up to you soon.

Cache out

7/27/10 Princeton dice cufflinks, given away

When you finally make the decision to downsize something as classy as a pair of dice cufflinks, you've got to do it with style.

The cufflinks are an artifact from my tenth college reunion, and it is a testament to their sentimental value that not only have I held onto them for six years, but they've been stored in the basket where I drop my wallet, keys, and change each night. Just like Princeton, that's a special place.

Nonetheless, with only four days left in the Downsize Challenge -- yes, Dear Readers, that's right: just FOUR days left -- it's time to pull out the big guns. Even the most precious of belongings are fair game.

And what a game it was.

If you haven't heard of geocaching, it's time for you to do a Google search, check out geocaching.com, or, even better, listen to this podcast from the cool guys at Stuff You Should Know.

The concept seems a little bizarre at first, then you realize it's just plain cool. All over the world, people hide containers in random places and publish the GPS coordinates. Anyone can look up the caches stashed neared them online and try to find the containers. If you find one, you sign the visitor log inside and, if you like, leave or take a trinket, which other geocachers have left behind.

How widespread is this little treasure-hunting game? I downloaded a geocaching app to my iPhone, turned it on, and immediately had directions to three different caches within a quarter mile of my front door. You, too, my friend, have one close to you. It's amazing. And, as mentioned before, very cool.

Naturally, Chase wanted to come along.

He may not have appreciated our first discovery, a cache in a nearby park, hidden in the branches of a tree about five feet off the ground, but this is definitely a fantastic activity for kids of all ages.

I signed the log (at least thirty people had found the cache before me) and dropped in the cufflinks, to go along with the watch, key, and Mardi Gras beads others had left.

Following geocaching protocol, it would have been fine for me to take one of the items in the cache since I was leaving something, but that would have violated downsizing protocol, so I refrained.

Downsize complete, new hobby discovered.

And just imagine the delight of the next geocacher when s/he discovers those cufflinks. Talk about hitting the jackpot.

EZ come, EZ go

7/26/10 E-Z Pass tag, returned

Paradoxically, the farther I get into this challenge, the more I realize that the world still isn't fully on board with the whole Reduce, Reuse, Recycle thing.

A week ago, I called the Maine Turnpike Authority to cancel my EZPass toll tag and account. I was delighted to discover that I had a $22 credit on my account and that, simply by filling out a form, I could have that money easily refunded to me. Wonderful!

While on the phone, I asked the customer service representative if I should mail my now worthless tag back to her.

"Oh, those are valid for seven to ten years," she replied.

Given that the tag was several years old already, I explained to her that I probably wouldn't be driving around the Northeast soon enough to justify holding onto it.

"But, are you sure you won't be back in a year or two? Most people just hold onto them."

Clearly, I am not most people, which is sort of the point of this whole challenge. If most people clutter up their lives with a 2" x 2" piece of plastic on the chance that, years from now, it might save them the twenty dollars, I surely don't WANT to be most people.

"You paid for that tag. We recommend you keep it."

Since my rejection of the tag was falling on deaf ears, I tried a different approach: "How about if I mail it to someone back East? Could someone else use it."

"Oh, no!" she replied with horror. "We don't recommend that! You bought it -- it's yours."

Yes, apparently for life.

"Well, what do you recommend I do with it if I can't give it away?" I was trying to be patient. This woman was clearly not one of my faithful readers.

"You should speak to your transfer station about proper disposal."

Really? In a day of tight budgets, dwindling tax revenues, and a public incensed by government spending, I'm being told by the Maine Transit Authority to toss this perfectly functional device in the trash?

"Are you sure I can't send it back to you?"

There was a long pause on the other line.

"Well, you do have the option of mailing it to us if you wish. I encourage you to keep it, but you can mail it to me along with your account cancelation form."

Sold! I ended the conversation as quickly as possible before she attempted to convince me to place it in my safety deposit box.

I mailed it off today and, with any luck, it will be in someone else's car doing its fine EZ Pass job by the end of the summer.

I just hope they processed the paperwork closing my account.

Under cover of darkness

7/25/10 Three bouquets of flowers, recycled

I may go to jail for tonight's downsize.

One of the more difficult adjustments we've had to make since moving into our little apartment has been throwing organic matter into the trash. In Maine, just about everything organic went into our compost bin. Our garbage was reduced to a bag a week, and we felt great about contributing to the natural cycle of growth, decay, and rebirth.

Since arriving in Denver, Joanna has been desperately trying to figure out where we can take our compostable items, to no avail. We've been met with blank stares even, shockingly, by the folks at composting tent at our local farmer's market. They were all ready to teach us how to compost and get us the necessary materials (not so easy when we don't have a yard yet), but had no idea where we could take our old coffee grounds and banana peels if we weren't composting ourselves.

Joanna has taken this even harder than I have. Putting apple cores in the garbage, where they shall be hermetically sealed in plastic for the next millennium or so, is a frustrating undertaking.

Thus, as Joanna's birthday bouquets passed their prime, I couldn't bring myself to toss them in the trash. They sat in a bag on our porch, a sad symbol of how man loves to interrupt the natural cycle of things.

This afternoon, we visited the Denver Botanic Gardens for the first time. Thanks to our good friends Marc & Gianna, we are now members, and I can see that it is going to be a wonderful place to spend many a day. Perhaps, they will even help me figure out how I can compost while living in a one bedroom apartment.

In the meanwhile, I was inspired to finally find a way to return those flowers to the earth. Even if it meant trespassing and littering.

After sunset, I took a shadowy stroll over to the neighborhood community garden. I couldn't find anything online about how to participate in the garden, but I'd seen that they had a place for grass clippings. I darted up to the fence, pulled back the tarp, and dropped in the flowers.

Then I ran like hell.

Hopefully, this downsize will lead, in one way or another, to a breakthrough on the composting front. I'm betting that when the cops show up on my doorstep later tonight, they'll know what we can do with our table scraps.

Journeyman

7/24/10 Two road atlases (DeLorme Maine atlas & Maine street atlas), given away.

We've come a long way, baby.

Joanna, Chase, and I headed into the mountains today to attend the wedding of one of her high school friends. At an elevation of 9,000 feet, just outside of Winter Park, the views at the outdoor wedding were absolutely breathtaking. I also had a blast meeting a few of Joanna's childhood friends who, it turns out, are not only tremendously cool as adults, but also married really interesting guys.

Yes, another day of exploration and discovery in the Centennial State.

With so much to experience out here (not to mention this nifty GPS device), there's little reason for me to hold onto the Maine road atlases that have lived in my car for the last seven years. I hadn't referenced them often for road travel recently, anyway, but the DeLorme road atlas did have a little Joanna/Reed history embedded within it.

During our time in Maine, whenever we explored a new lake in our kayak (downsized here), we would mark the route in the atlas. It was pretty neat, over time, to see most of the lakes surrounding our home get marked up.

Today, I mailed both atlases back to Maine to my high school friend Jana. (See, Joanna, I had a few friends when I was a kid, too.)

Jana, appropriately enough, is a teacher, and she plans to use them with her students. Right on.

Meanwhile, out here on the Front Range, Joanna has already suggested we get a map of Colorado parks, and mark each one as we hike it. Not a bad idea, not a bad idea...

A.B.C. (Always Be Closing)

7/23/10 Zig Zigler's seminal work, Secrets of Closing the Sale, abandoned

While we are well under way preparing for the opening of SOAR Charter School, the building, itself, is not quite ready for us. As finishing touches are put on our facility, I've been fortunate enough to use a spare cubicle in a nearby business.

Out of respect -- and a slight fear of reprisal -- I shall not name the business that has so generously donated temporary office space to us.

I will explain, however, that an educator working in a sales office creates a bit of culture shock. My cubicle abutted a conference room, where, last Monday, the sales team had their usual Monday morning meeting.

Oh.

My.

God.

This little event kicked off at 8AM, but preparations had been underway since about seven. Streamers were hung from the door, balloons and glittery stars adorned the walls, and (honestly, this is true) I literally tripped coming down the stairs because a number of cheerleader pompoms were strewn about the stairway in festive, decorative fashion.

The stereo system was turned to eleven. One song was definitely by the Black Eyed Peas; I tried to block out the DJ after that.

And then it got weird.

As sales staff arrived their colleagues blew whistles -- shrill, metal, gym-class whistles -- with great enthusiasm and let out the whoops and hollers one might expect at a bachelorette party when the "fireman" emerges from the cake. I don't know if the salesmen were assigned staggered arrival times, but these cheering welcomes seemed to last for a good forty-five minutes.

Just try to design reading curriculum for first graders under these conditions. Go ahead, I dare you.

Once the formal business part of the meeting got underway, the wall between the sales team and me provided a bit of merciful muffling, but two more agenda items managed to burst their way into my consciousness.

First, at one point sales team members were apparently called up in front of their peers to roll a pair if dice. They were then given ten dollars in cash for every dot in the resulting roll. One dude rolled an eleven and the whole crew counted along as he was handed $110. To be frank, at this point I considered trying to sneak in and join the festivities.

And then came the piece de resistance: a viewing, at maximum volume, of the scene from Glengarry Glen Ross when Alec Baldwin gives us an impression of salesman that falls somewhere in the range between Ebola and Rod Blagojevich. (Watch the magic here, but make sure your kids aren't in the room.)

To paraphrase: "Only one thing counts in this life: get them to sign on the line which is dotted. You hear me, you f***ing f*****s?!?"

Well, now I'm motivated to get out there and sell something.

Please keep in mind, I was on the other side of a wall, so I couldn't hear the justification for closing the meeting with this clip.

Then again, could there be any justification?

I shouldn't judge too harshly. Some time ago, when I was trying to figure out additional income streams, I bought Zig Ziglar's sales Bible, Secrets of Closing the Sale. Apparently, it's one of the most influential sales books in history. I didn't get too far into it, but I have held onto it ever since.

On Monday, we get into our school. I'll have my own office and be in a place where, when adults act childish, at least they have good, six-year-old role models to emulate.

As I packed up my cubicle this evening and left the building, the opportunity to leave Zig behind was too great to resist. Clearly, these people need all the help they can get.

I dropped the book on the table in the lobby. Maybe the sales staff can pick up a few tips that Alec Baldwin forgot to mention.

A thousand words

7/22/10 Over a dozen photographs, given away

Of the many downsizes I've completed over the last year, the type that has generated the strongest personal response has been discarded photographs.

I've done a number of picture downsizes, but I had a span of five days back in April (one, two, three, four, five) when I went on a tear, viciously ripping old photo albums apart and tossing the majority of the contents.

Honestly, I kept enough pictures that it wasn't hard for me to recycle or give away many more. I mean, how many pictures of Marc, Chris, and Jason backpacking in the woods do I really need? I get it: we had good times in Shenandoah National Park.

But for some readers of the blog, it was really tough to hear that I would part with pictures. One colleague of mine told me many times, "Oh, I just could never do that. I couldn't get rid of my pictures." Even my own mother expressed great concerns about my disparaging remarks regarding sentimentality.

This all points to the fact that the things we possess also, at times, possess us.

I do want to keep pictures from those great hiking trips with Marc, Chris, and Jason (and I DID), but I don't want those pictures to replace my memories and feelings about those adventures. In a way, each picture I gave up was an affirmation of the deep connection I still have to those good times. I don't need all the pics, I still have the experience.

Today, I discovered, in the door cubbie of my car, several envelopes of pictures I no longer needed. I'd actually wondered where these had gone to. I'd set them aside when I cleared out my photo album, but had misplaced them. Today, I mailed them off -- with shockingly little emotion -- to others who might like to relive a fine memory or two.

Hopefully, they won't hold on to the pictures long before they downsize them as well.

Hold onto the memories, Dear Readers, but let some of the photographs go. You don't need them.

Fewer toys, more friends

7/21/10 Four stuffed animals and one bath book, given away

While the downsizing has been plodding along, the real work recently has been the launching of our new elementary school, SOAR. This week we began a month of professional development for our new staff, and it has been truly inspiring.

As research has consistently shown, the single most important factor in a child's success in school is the teacher. Economics? Race? Parents' level of education? School size? None of it matters as much as who the kid's teacher is.

After meeting our faculty, I can only say that the children coming to SOAR are tremendously fortunate.

I'm also loving the fact that we have a disproportionate number of males on staff for an elementary school, which is to say we have more than zero. Actually, SOAR has several men on staff, and, as luck would have it, three of them have children who are right around the same age as Chase. Future friends for the Colorado Critter.

To ensure that those tykes will think favorably of my son, I decided to buy them off.

Chase has so many stuffed animals that today I took four of them to school (as well as a bath book that we had two copies of).

My new colleagues Eric, J.C., and Brad divvied up the goods and, as the photos above show, their little ones are already breaking them in. May the toys bring them hours of enjoyment.

Sharing and giving are important characteristics that we all want our children to develop. I'm trying to teach them to Chase at an early age.

My wish? A violin would be nice...

7/20/10 Two more Five Wishes packets, given away

In the span of three days, I've downsized all of my excess living wills and am darn close to filling out my own set. (Keep holding me to it.)

Some readers -- you know who you are, Gemni -- may feel that downsizes such as this are a tad on the weak side. It's just a packet of papers, and one that I didn't even actively acquire.

Thin-skinned as I am, I shall present my defense:

1) As I wrote a year ago in the post outlining the Challenge Guidelines, a downsize is legitimate if I get rid of something "that wasn't headed out the door already." The Five Wishes packets were most definitely not headed out the door. I'd had them for years, clinging to them like family heirlooms. As illogical as that may be.

2) Two months ago I sold my house and a month ago I moved across the country. The amount of items I culled through those processes is rather staggering, if I do say so myself. (Check out this, and this, and, for goodness sake, this!) What could possibly be left? Yet, every day I find something to part with.

3) We are currently living (by affluent, twenty-first century American standards) a rather bare-bones existence. We are in a one-bedroom apartment with only those items we feel are most essential. We have not a single picture on the wall, not a single knick-knack on the windowsill, not a single box of old CDs in the basement. Heck, we don't have a basement. Yet, every day I find something to part with.

4) Thank Zeus there are only eleven days left in the challenge. If I weren't in the final sprint of the homestretch, motivation would be severely lagging. I am the Resident Principal of SOAR Charter School, which will open its doors for the first time (literally -- the paint isn't even dry enough on the building for us to move in, yet) in less than a month. Plus, I'm trying to do my part to help Joanna properly care for this little tyke that seems to have moved in with us. (And please do not tell me how your children easily slept through the night as infants -- that information does not help.) Oh, and we're having a house built. These little factors have been occupying a good part of my time, energy, and attention. Yet, every day I find something to part with (and write a mini-essay about it).

Are the violins playing out there? I hope so... they need to drown out the sound of the crickets.

So that's my case. Not asking for sympathy; I'm happy to admit that not every downsize is inspiring and many a post could have been written by the cats.

Yet, every day I find something to part with.

But only for eleven more days.

What a croc! (Part II)

7/19/10 One Croc sandal, recycled

Who says the little guy can't stand up to the major corporation? Call up Michael Moore, I've got a story for him!

Three hundred fifty-three days into the challenge, and the blog, as a public forum, finally demonstrated it could throw its weight around.

Apparently, my emails and blog posting pinged around Crocs, Inc. until I received a welcomed email from Melissa, Program Manager for Crocs Cares. A quick perusal of the web site shows me that Crocs Cares is primarily focused on getting shoes on the feet of people worldwide who need them -- a commendable and appropriate goal -- but they also must occasionally handle the outraged complaints of random customers.

That would be me.

Shortly after tossing the croc into the trash and publishing the related blog post, I received an email from Melissa who explained that Crocs, Inc. once did, indeed, have a recycling program in which they ground up old sandals and sent the grind to a company that used it in irrigation systems and nursery ground cover. For various reasons connected to the "overall carbon footprint" they've stopped this, but Melissa offered to make an exception for me.

Heck yes, I'm all for preferential treatment.

Fortunately, I don't take the garbage out often, and I was able to rescue the sandal from the trash can, with limited gag reflex. (Six months of diapers have really steeled my stomach.)

Joanna dropped the shoe in the mail today, and we have assurances from Melissa that she will forward it along to the company that grinds them up and uses the resulting rubber mulch.

When I asked Melissa if she'd like me to say anything on her behalf in the blog (Does it seem like I've been fully co-opted by corporate America?), she requested that I let you all know, Dear Readers, that Crocs, Inc. is about to launch a formal partnership with Soles4Souls to find good feet for lightly used crocs. When you are ready to downsize your pair, be sure to check out the Crocs website to find out how you can give them a worthy afterlife.

Have no fear, my campaign for corporate recycling responsibility (outlined here and here) lives on.

It's just that now I can feel good about wearing crocs on the campaign trail.

Make a wish

7/18/20 Two Five Wishes Packets, given away

Today, Joanna's birthday celebration continued as Marc and Gianna had us over for a delicious vegetarian dinner. It was all capped off by my new favorite dessert: Gianna's homemade chocolate chip cookie ice-cream sandwich cake. I can't begin to describe it, but I've already placed my order for my birthday.

It's great fun to hang out with our best friends, but there's no denying that the dynamics are all changed by kids. We've got our own Colorado Critter now, and Marc & Gianna's sons are three and six years old. Just sharing a meal is different when there are children involved, and, of course, the way we conduct the rest of our lives is forever altered, too.

Just about every year, Joanna's dad (whose own life was certainly redirected by the births of his two lovely daughters) sends us a couple of Five Wishes packets. If you're not familiar with these, they are do-it-yourself living wills that outline your wishes should you become seriously ill. Basically, should we pull the plug or not.

As morbid as it may sound, these kinds of decisions -- and there are a million of them -- go from the realm of jokes to moral responsibilities once you have kids.

That's why I so appreciate not only Meyrick's gentle nudging of us to create living wills (a sign of good parenting), but his persistence. At this point, I've collected six packets, and we still haven't completed them. At five dollars a pop, Meyrick's investment is starting to add up.

Tonight, however, I draw a line in the sand, and publicly declare that Joanna and I will complete our packets by the end of the week.

Since we need only two, I took two of the extra ones over to dinner tonight for our friends, and Marc did a read through of some of the decisions. For the record, Marc wants his head kept alive for as long as possible. The rest of us were doubtful of its value, but he was pretty insistent.

Living head or no, I am determined to be the best darn husband and father I can, so I'm going to take care of this bit of responsible parenting within a few days. Hold me to it.

And, Dear Readers, even after Joanna and I complete our Five Wishes packets, I'll still have two left over to downsize. Let me know if you want them -- I'm ready to pass this spirit of adult responsibility along!

Editor's Note, 8/8/10: We did get our living wills completed about a week after I posted this entry. However, it took until the first week of August to get witnesses to sign the forms, making them official. Appropriately enough, Marc & Gianna served as our witnesses.

The keys to my heart

7/17/10 Four keys, trashed.

Today, my Beautiful Bride celebrated her birthday.

It is no exaggeration to say that she has the keys to my heart. She has made me happier than I ever deserve to be, and the main reason I'm so psyched to live to be one hundred is that it means I get to have sixty-two more years with her.

Of course, I now have to share her heart with another guy, but I don't mind.

Today, this little Party of Three skipped up the road to Boulder for a delightful little hike in Chautauqua Park. It's becoming clear that we are going to be a true hiking family and our options around here are virtually unlimited.

Joanna's birthday? With all this outdoor fun, it feels like my b-day, too.

After our hike, Chase took a few moments to play with the mystery keys I finally had the courage to discard. I'm suppressing the intense fear the comes from the belief that I might have just thrown away a vital key.

Of course, having long ago surrendered those keys to my heart (yes, this is all a bit over the top, but, hey, I'm in love), any other locks seem like child's play.

Happy Birthday, Jo.

And, finally, Dear Readers, I leave you with an image that burned my retinas as we walked by. On the way to our delightful lunch in Boulder, we passed this store. We DID NOT go in...

Computer wars

7/16/10 Computer power cord, returned

I spent the first forty-five minutes at work today wanting to throw my new computer out the window. That's how long it took me to write (four times) a simple five-sentence email, attach three documents to it, and successfully send it. What with all the "MICROSOFT WORD IS NOT RESPONDING" messages, screen freezes, reboots, and spinning hourglasses, it made for a bit of a frustrating kick-off to my Friday.

Without going into too much detail, I can say, WITH ABSOLUTELY NO EXAGGERATION, that in one week of using a Toshiba laptop running Windows I have had more problems than with seven years of using a Macintosh.

Let's just say it's been a hard transition.

Fortunately, Joanna was able to buy her old work MacBook last spring from Poland Regional High School when they upgraded their computers. We got a great deal on it, and it's nice to know that one of us has a functioning machine.

However, I realized the other day that Joanna had two power cords. Apparently, she had mistakenly taken an extra one from school, and it trailed along all the way to Colorado.

Honest public employees that we are, my Beautiful Bride and I realized that we must return said cord, so I mailed it back to Maine this afternoon.

I was tempted to mail my Toshiba right along with it.

Tea Party

7/15/10 5.3 ounces of loose leaf green tea, consumed

Joanna's the tea drinker in this family.

I have yet to experiences the situation where tea would be a better choice than either coffee or beer. However, when in Rome...

Between pregnancy, breast feeding, and a general drive towards good health, Joanna hasn't consumed caffeine in well over a year. As a stickler for waste, I took it upon myself -- on those rare occasions when I drank the King's beverage -- to consume Joanna's caffeinated stash.

Back on October 1, I pulled an unopened bag of loose green tea out of our newly organized tea drawer. I brewed myself a cup (must have been an especially slow night) and discovered, to my delight, that "green tea" is the same stuff you get in Chinese restaurants. Huh! Who knew?

It then became my mission to finish this bag of tea, one cup at a time.

Tonight, 288 days later, I sit here sipping the final cup from that bag.

Like that wise Mr. Owl in the old Tootsie Roll Pop ads, I now know how long it takes me to consume 5.3 ounces of tea. Eight and a half months.

After this epic downsize do I have a greater passion and appreciation for tea?

No, but I've sure got a hunkering for some Chinese food.

The sound of one foot stomping

7/17/10 One Croc sandal, trashed

I'll kick off tonight's downsize from two angles:

1) The Mystery

A few years ago, under intense pressure from my wife, I bought a pair of Crocs. If you have not received your updated membership to the sheeple club, let me remind you that crocs, thanks either to Mario Batali or little kids everywhere, are now the preferred footwear for every occasion.

The crocs were functional and I've certainly gotten my use out of them. In fact, I chose to hold them out as one of only four pairs of shoes I didn't downsize or pack in the POD before leaving Maine.

Here's the crazy part: while we were in Ohio, I slid the crocs on as I went to get something out of the car. And one croc felt strangely snug. Upon examination, it was very clear that one sandal was noticeably smaller than the other. It was almost as if it had shrunk twenty percent.

Long story short: the only possible explanation was that I had somehow switched right shoes with someone who had an identical, yet smaller size, sandal. The only place I figured that could have happened was at my parents' house, where possibly my mother or my sister had similar shoes.

Unfortunately, my mother, who was with us at the time, couldn't seem to recall if she owned black crocs.

"Maybe," she said, tentatively. That was good enough for me, and when she flew back to Maine after escorting us safely to Denver, I sent the mini-shoe with her.

Are you surprised, Dear Readers, to hear that neither Mom nor Katie had the missing croc?

So, now, I am left with one useless sandal, completely baffled by what could have happened to its mate.

2) A Policy Recommendation

You may remember, Dear Readers, my proposal that businesses that sell toxic chemicals should assume some responsibility for helping consumers recycle unused portions of those chemicals. It was a brilliant idea and the foundation of my future bid for public office. Like any good politician, however, I realize that I must expand my platform beyond one idea -- okay, honestly, most politicians these days seem intent on NOT looking beyond a single idea, but we can still pretend, right?

So here's my new proposal: companies that produce goods that can't be recycled or reused in traditional ways should offer options for responsible disposal of their goods.

I read online that Crocs, Inc. accepted unwearable sandals back at their Boulder, Colorado, facility where they recycled their "proprietary closed-cell resin, Croslite™, which represents a substantial innovation in footwear." If the substance is so fabulous, it makes sense that they'd have a plan for dealing with its consequential refuse. (Read all about this space-age technology that has made these folks billionaires here.)

The feel-good recycle urban myth? Not true.

I spent valuable time today when I should have been working emailing back and forth with Crocs Customer Service Associate Erin, who really did want to help me. Unfortunately, the best she could do was recommend I donate my old crocs to Souls 4 Souls, which is great if you have two wearable shoes, but not so good when all you've got is a lone sandal.

My visions of driving up to Boulder and dropping off my lone shoe, complete with great photo-op in front of the crocs factory, were crushed.

In the end, I tossed it into the garbage. Croslite or not, it's just going to be a bump in the landfill, now.

Seems like a shame, no? If this material has made this company such a success, shouldn't they have a plan for what to do with it? We've reached a point where consumers are starting to think about the long-term consequences of what they buy.

I believe -- and I'll stand by this as I debate my fellow candidates -- that we need to raise the expectations for the businesses from which we buy.

I'm calling you out, Crocs, Inc. Before I buy my next pair of crocs, I want to know your plan for how I'll properly downsize them when their ambulatory life is over. I await your response.

And I ask for your vote.

Editor's Note, 7/19/10: One croc was rescued from the depths of the trash can and one Croc, Inc. was rescued from the depths of corporate villainy. Check out the July 19th post for the details.

Editor's Note, 8/2/10: To make up for the fact that I couldn't officially count this croc as "trashed" on this day, I trashed a battery-operated nose-hair trimmer. I figured a used nose-hair trimmer had equal gross-out value as a used sandal.

Blast from the past

7/13/10 Two dozen pieces of paper, recycled

A little piece of paper just baffled me.

It's a social security stub that should have been thrown out the same day it arrived in the mail. Apparently, about fifteen years ago I ordered a replacement social security card. When it arrived, it came with a little card that said, YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY CARD and detailed what the social security card is for. Of course, if I didn't already know what the card was for, I probably wouldn't have ordered a replacement one in the first place.

The only personalized information on this entire stub was my address, which is how I know when I received it. The address is the apartment I lived in my first two years out of college, 1994-1996.

Since then, I have moved seven times. And, somehow, this little scrap moved right along with me. All around Jersey, up to Maine, down to Harlem, back to Maine, and now all the way to Colorado. What's most fascinating to me is that the stub wasn't buried in the bottom of a file folder in the back of a file cabinet I never open. It was among the small, hand-picked vital documents that I transported personally across the country.

Clearly I didn't intentionally include it. In fact, I can't imagine that I ever would have purposely saved this thing. But somehow -- through a bizarre anti-downsizing force we must all constantly fight -- it survived every threat, and followed me for fifteen years.

Well, Mr. SS Information Card, your joyride ends tonight.

I emptied my briefcase of about two dozen scraps of paper and irrelevant documents, none as interesting as the above mentioned hanger-on, but all needing to go.

I'll be the first to admit that tonight's downsize is a tad lame. In my defense, I had a more significant and perhaps more interesting downsize lined up, but it failed to come together at the last moment. Subsequently, I had to scramble, and my options were limited at 9:30 in the evening.

But, I think my discovery reinforces the necessity of frequently culling our files, tossing out the little scraps of paper than collect in the corners of our lives. Perhaps they even distract us from the beauty of life, which is more than enough reason to take a few minutes to downsize them.

Beside, you never know what you may find.

Don't put the baby in a dog crate, and other advice...

7/12/10 (Bad) parenting books, given away

The last person who should be giving parenting advice is me. Less than six months into the gig, and it's pretty obvious I'm just making it up as I go along.

While Joanna has been reading such tomes as Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child and The Happiest Baby on the Block, I've taken a slightly different tack.

My last two self-help reference texts were Fatherhood is Not for Sissies (hey, that's totally true) and Safe Baby Handling Tips. I am now very clear about the fact that you should not wake baby using an air horn.

Having now absorbed all this fine advice, I decided to hand it off to my great friend Jason, who has a brand new baby of his own. Jason doesn't need the help with fatherhood, but I also know he could use a little cheer, so I mailed the books off to him today.

I don't do enough for my buddies, but every once in a while I do like to pass along a little bad advice.

That's just the kind of friend I am.

I have issues (in 3-D)

7/11/10 Pair of 3-D glasses, recycled

Boy, it was a good plan. Foolproof, really, and I was going to cash in with it. It was going to be my greatest eBay victory, earn me a hefty check, and lead to a fantastic and funny blog post. I'd even given the post a title already: Sex Sells.

Oh, it would have been glorious.

And now I have to admit it will never happen.

Here's the back story:

As I've reported before, I've been a Sports Illustrated subscriber since 1987. As I am sure you are well aware, each year Sports Illustrated releases a special issue focusing on the biggest issues in contemporary sports culture.

It's called the Swimsuit Issue.

As my most faithful readers will recall, I've been quite a hoarder of Sports Illustrated, particularly those with Boston sports figures on the cover and special issues. Naturally, I always saved the swimsuit issue, if for no other reason than photos of Elle MacPherson never get old.

Still, I'm married with children -- well, one kid, but he is a handful -- and it's probably time to let go of the soft porn veiled in athletic literature.

But, here's the beautiful thing (no pun intended), I just KNEW that someone out there was going to pay through the teeth to get every swimsuit issue since 1987. Twenty-four historically significant, socially acceptable magazines full of skin, sun, and sand. Oh, baby, the eBay auction was going to be glorious, with the goal of hitting triple digits a distinct possibility.

Plus, as magazines, the swimsuit issues would qualify for the media mail rate, thereby bypassing the biggest problem of eBay (as outlined in this post). And, of course, with a big payday, I would have something to show for holding onto those magazine for all these years.

And then the magazines disappeared. Ugh.

As we packed up the house for the move to Colorado, I suddenly discovered I couldn't find the boxes of swimsuit issues. I had the ones since 2004, when I moved back to Maine, but all the earlier issues were nowhere to be found. I went into a bit of denial, even carting the 2004-2010 issues into our temporary rental in Maine believing all the rest would magically show up. I checked my parent's attic, where most of them had been stored since I was in high school, but they weren't there, either.

The day I drove out of Maine, I tossed those most recent seven years into my folks' recycling bin. It was over.

Strangely, though, I couldn't quite surrender the dream. One of Sports Illustrated's many gimmicks over the years -- hey, even gorgeous women in thongs get repetitive after a couple of decades -- was to publish an issue in 3-D, which arrived complete with the iconic red/blue 3-D glasses. Even as I tossed those final magazines, I couldn't throw away the glasses.

Why not? Your guess is as pathetic as mine, but I held on to them, carting them all the way to Denver.

They've been sitting on the shelf by our front door where I put my wallet and keys each night, a painful reminder of my lost fortune.

Even tonight, as I tossed the paper glasses into the recycling bin, I had delusions of grandeur. I imagined that the phone was going to ring, and Dad was going to say that he just discovered the missing mags in some closet. The plan could still come together!

No, I guess that call isn't going to come.

But, if it does, I'm ready. The blog post is going to be called Sex Sells, and I might just use my earnings to finally buy that iPad...

(Because, hey, Sports Illustrated looks even better on the iPad than in magazine form -- and every back issue of the swimsuit issue can be instantly downloaded.)

Go West, Young Man

7/10/10 Kid's keys, trashed

My Cousin Chad gave us a great baby shower gift last December: a baby backpack. Chad had used it with his own daughters when they were young, and so he did an admirable bit of downsizing by giving it to us.

Chad's one of the few people I know who has a love and knowledge of backpacking to rival my own, so I was thrilled to get this hand-me-down from him.

Chase is finally big enough to sit independently in the backpack, so we christened it today with a 1 1/2 hour hike in Morrison, Colorado. You may know Morrison for the Red Rocks Amphitheater, which we also scoped out today. (Note to self: MUST return to Red Rocks to see a show. Could there be a cooler concert venue? I think not.)

Our hike was in Matthews/Winters Park along the hogback, the rolling foothills that separate the great plains from the mountains. Very beautiful.

I employed an old ultra-lightweight backpacking trick, bringing an umbrella along for the hike, since most of it was out in the open, exposed to the sun. Joanna walked along in eighty-degree sunshine; Chase and I ambled in cool shade. Jo and I had fun, and Chase really enjoyed his first excursion into the great outdoors.

What he would have also loved was to suck on the plastic keys that came attached to the backpack when Chad gave it to us. These keys were clearly well-loved and well-teethed by Chad's daughters, perhaps while crawling through a mud puddle.

While I'm trying not to drag Chase's stuff into the Downsizing challenge too much, we are certainly being thoughtful about what we buy and save for him. While those keys could probably have been cleaned up, he already has a similar set, and I figure no six-month-old needs to own more keys than I do.

I reluctantly dropped them into the trash.

The backpack, however, shall not be downsized anytime soon -- it's destined for a lot of use. Call it our key to the great outdoors.

iTunes in

7/9/10 iPhone car adapter, trashed

When I first bought my iPhone, I also got a cassette adapter that allowed me to play the iPhone through the car stereo.

Despite the iPhone being the most technologically advanced creation since the space shuttle, the adapter was straight out of 1988. It's just cassette you put into the tape deck, with a long cord that plugs into the phone's audio jack.

And it works just as well as state-of-the-art 1980s technology.

It immediately drove me crazy, supplementing the podcasts I wanted to hear to with a piercing, electronic buzz. Yeah, it was basically unusable.

So, shortly after buying it, I did what any self-respecting man would do. I bought a tremendously overpriced, high-tech iPhone charger/transmitter and gave the crappy adapter to my wife.

After struggling with it for a month or so, Joanna informed me that it had broken, going from making sounds you wouldn't want to listen to to making no sound at all. Progress?

Naturally, I assumed she was probably mistaken, and that the adapter could still work, so I didn't throw it out. In fact, I put it in my car -- ironically, within six inches of the transmitter I bought to replace it. And there it sat.

Let's step back a minute and take stock so far.

• I had a device that functioned so poorly, I refused to use it.
• Then, it broke.
• After that, I drove around with it in my car for three months. Even stared at it all the way from Maine to Colorado.

And this is during the period in my life when I've committed to getting rid of things, when I spend part of every day writing essays about letting go of stuff. There were several days during this time when I even looked around and thought, "I don't have anything left I can part with."

If I didn't know myself, I'd say I was a candidate for some serious psychological counseling.