Have you heard of Swedish Death Cleaning? I’m probably late to the party as the concept has been around since 2017. When I first heard of it my response was: “yikes”. But it is a sensible idea, me thinks.
In Sweden it is called döstädning, which translates simply from death (dö) and cleaning (städning). That’s pretty straight forward. In 2017, Margareta Magnusson coined the name in her best-seller, “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to free yourself and your family from a lifetime of clutter.” No one wants the task of disposing of 356 plastic bread bags or yogurt containers or the hardy rubber bands that come wrapped around my free-range egg containers or the twist ties that laid end to end might circle the globe. I have quite a collection of “stuff” that could use a good döstädning. I’m looking on top of my kitchen cabinets as I write this – I have four vases and I don’t even like cut flowers. I have a sizeable inventory of canning jars and that is after having parted with three boxes of them at my last move. I haven’t canned anything since I made blackberry jelly a bunch of years ago, braving thorns and nettles to collect the berries for jelly I could have bought for $7 a jar at the Farmer’s Market for a lot less trouble.
One organizing expert told us a few years ago that if a possession doesn’t bring us happiness, ditch it. Those instructions should come with a warning. But this Swedish approach has a different spin. Some think it morbid to call it death cleaning, but maybe the way to look at it is an exercise in being proactive. We are all going to leave this earthly realm and we might be better off if we embraced the notion rather than fearing it or avoiding the topic all together.
I have my mother’s covered aluminum cake tin. It resists fitting together properly and I don’t blame it. The cake tin originally belonged to my grandmother and has done its duty and service and has earned its retirement. I loved the cakes my mother made in this tin, especially Ishgy-Gishgy and the recipe, which I might remind you I am obligated to take to my grave based on my daughter Samantha’s instructions when she was eight years old. The memory is in the taste of the cakes not the tin they were baked in, so calling it a day and handing it off to the great recycling gods is neither disrespectful nor shameful.
Margareta tells us to consider two questions in the potential disposal of what we have stuffed in boxes and in the backs of dark closets – 1. will I ever need this object and 2. will anyone be happier if I save it. “Ask them,” Margareta says. Margareta’s idea is meant to ease the burden for those left behind. I would also say it allows us time to spend with the things we’ve dragged along with us on the journey and perhaps relive those moments we deemed worthy of remembering. My mother had a three-drawer filing cabinet filled to the brim with piano sheet music. She played in an orchestra and dance band as a teenager, and I think every song she ever learned to play was in that filing cabinet. Parting with any of the music felt like parting with her all over again, a task that would have been much easier for her than those of us clearing away her life’s treasures.
Following Magnusson’s advice, I have checked with my daughters, and they seem totally convinced they can safely move forward in life after my demise without any of my plastic bags or yogurt containers, and would even go so far as to say, “ditch the twist ties”. One cupboard at a time is my new mantra. I am careful not to be specific about which day and certainly not every day; moderation when it comes to digging through the drawers and boxes of my life. Wiggle room required. I have started with one cupboard and managed to thin down my plastic containers to a handful and dispose of some spices that came over on the Mayflower. I did, however, rescue a bag of split green peas headed for the compost. I think dried peas live forever, so chances are I will someday make another pot of ham/split pea soup. They’ve survived for a good many years in my cupboard, so should be good for a few more. Baby steps. Rome wasn’t dismantled in a day.
wendistewart@live.ca
