Love it or let it go?

This has been the summer of purging and cleaning out at the Little House on the Alley. It’s been brutal. My brain tells me to let go, but my heart tells me to keep it.

You need to understand I have an even littler house on the alley a few blocks from my house. It is the house where I grew up. The first place I knew what it felt like to be loved was in that 1950s National Home. It, and others like it, were built for factory workers. Tucked inside are things people would call antique and vintage. I call them memories.

A few weeks ago, my grandson, Matthew, and his family moved to Northwest Illinois for a job promotion. This left the house empty … or so I thought. While Matthew took some of the furniture and kitchen stuff, there were closets to clean out and the garage and the garage attic and the shed. Oh, my goodness, the things I found.

Imagine finding things tucked away for 40, 50, or 60 years.

When I was a little girl, I loved baby dolls. I had no idea mine were tucked into the attic of the garage. While I had grown up, they had remained baby dolls. They had not weathered the years well. Tiny Tears had one eye looking up, and one eye half closed. Chatty Cathy was no longer chatty. The remaining fingers of Baby Susie were now brittle. I had chewed off most of her fingers when I was a toddler. Poor baby doll with no name. A melted leg dangled from her hip joint. These dolls looked perfect for a scary Halloween display. Enjoy them, Matt and Megan!

Finding the hidden treasures was like discovering parts of my life I had forgotten. Between stacks of boxes was a framed picture my dad had painted before I was born. It was a large paint-by-number project. Yes, I’m keeping it.

A box of old radios held my dad’s CB radio. I closed my eyes and heard, “10-4 Country Boy here this evening.” Dad said his final “Over” some 17 years ago. He, indeed, was a Good Buddy.

Jim Hart was also known for his fascination with antique clocks. He collected and repaired them. The garage still had the parts to prove it. While growing up, there was a chime-chime here and a tick-tock there. Everywhere there was a clock reminding me of the time. Dad instilled in me the belief that being “on time” means being at least 15 minutes early for an occasion. He taught me well.

Tucked in the corner of the attic was an old phone. I mean, OLD. It was before the time of the rotary phone. A few months ago, Chuck and I tried to explain to our 10-year-old granddaughter, Leah, how I had a harvest gold phone that hung on the wall. There was a cord that stretched so you could walk around the kitchen and talk. Her brilliant little mind could not begin to wrap around what we were talking about, no matter the details we continued to tell her. I would not attempt to explain to her about the phone I found in the garage attic.

My dear friends, Rhonda and Junior, who own the darling antique store Thistle and Thyme in downtown Noblesville, advised me on what was worth a nickel or two. Who knew that my dad’s old used, a.k.a. vintage, paintbrushes, were now in demand to hang on a board as décor? Dad would be thrilled. I would have tossed them in the no-one-would-want-these pile.

Photos provided by Janet Hart Leonard

My daughter-in-law, Angie, and the grandkids got first picks on the treasures they wanted to keep and remember Nana and Pop Pop. I love hearing their “Remember when?” stories. My daughter, Emily, is more about the memories she has in her heart than having them in her house.

One of the earliest pieces I remember being in the living room of my mom and dad’s house was the smoker’s stand. A similar vintage piece is now priced at over $200 on Etsy. It seemed most men were smokers in the 1950s and 1960s. At least they were in our family and the circle of Mom and Dad’s friends. I still remember the haze of smoke whenever the Blands, Gibbs, Goulds, and Harts would gather on a Saturday night. Anyone in the market for a vintage smoker’s stand?

As I told Rhonda this week, the old saying, “One woman’s junk is another woman’s treasure,” is alive and well on 12^th Street.

If you decide you want to decorate with vintage paintbrushes … I know where you can find them.

My parents loved me well and taught me well. I love the treasures they left me in the Littler House on the Alley. Most of all, I love the memories.

There is a lot of purging going on, but there is also a lot of keeping. I genuinely have a sentimental heart, and that heart has a lot of memories attached to it. There are certain things I can’t let go. That does not include the scary dolls, vintage paintbrushes, and the smoker’s stand.

Janet Hart Leonard can be contacted at janethartleonard@gmail.com or followed on Facebook or Instagram (@janethartleonard). Visit janethartleonard.com.