I Wasn't Expecting the Tupperware

As I geared up to get rid of my parents’ prized possessions along with some random relics left behind by my brother, three grandparents, some great grandparents and a few aunts and uncles, I spent some time preparing myself to say goodbye, find peace with the fact that each item served its purpose, and to know that people’s souls don’t 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 reside in their old belongings.

I felt ready to give away my  mom’s beloved fabric, my dad’s beloved books, and my brother’s beloved clothes, but I wasn’t expecting the Tupperware.

I prepared myself for decades of memories popping up from the pictures, smells, colors, textures, gadgets, collectibles and knickknacks, but I wasn’t expecting the Tupperware.

I watched the collection of salt and pepper shakers that started before I was born dwindle down pair by pair, I helped people pick out ashtrays, knives and belt buckles from other collections almost as large, and I loved when the random stuff (like the Star Trek VHS tapes, craft supplies, John Wayne clock, and Marlboro gear) found new owners who truly appreciated their value. I even marveled at a Russian woman happily buying the old deer head that hung over the wood stove for 50 years (while people chain-smoked in that room), but I wasn’t expecting the Tupperware.

As I got dishpan hands for the first time in decades, as I negotiated with people who intimidated me into lowering prices, as we sat down for dinner together in that house one last time, and as I practiced what I preach about blessing and releasing, I thought I was doing pretty well… but I wasn’t expecting the Tupperware.

I’m not sure if you grew up in a Tupperware family, but I think we owned one of everything that company ever made between 1970 and 1990. Tupperware made so much more than food storage containers… actually we stored leftovers in old butter dishes because we had to be very intentional with the “good” Tupperware.

𝙄𝙩 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙘 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 - 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙬𝙖𝙨.

We did have all of the storage containers, but there was also a brown canister set (yellow at my Grammas), the cake keeper (and the thinner model intended for cupcakes), the big red rectangle one where the lunchmeat lived, the “good” green colander, the weird triangle shaped ones (that must’ve been a free bonus because no one ever knew what to do with them), a special storage tray for Deviled Eggs, the sewing kit with the handles, a yellow oblong one that seemed made for corn on the cob, cups for the kids to drink out of, a juicer, the tall white rectangle where the saltines lived waiting for one of us to have an upset stomach, ice cube trays, a jello mold, our favorite yellow Kool-aid pitcher, the popsicle makers, and of course, we had the salt and pepper shakers.

As much as I knew that I had no need for any of the things, a big part of me still wanted to throw that whole box in my car and bring it home with me - after all, it was very “good” Tupperware.

I’m committed to my quest for breaking generational patterns (especially the one that involved “collecting” and “saving” things…sometimes known as “hoarding”). So, I didn’t take the box, but it was a close one. One that reminded me that 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙧𝙪𝙣 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙙 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨..

It’s not easy to let go of the voices I’ve heard my whole life telling me that everything should be held on to because “someone might need it” or “it might be worth something one day”... and I think part of me was also worried that once the stuff is gone that the memories would be too, but I did take plenty of pictures of everything.

I guess that might make me a digital hoarder, but that won’t be anywhere near as challenging for Ian to manage one day and my brother and I are still breaking the cycle - 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙮, 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.