In childhood I remember my mother used to dream up a rhyming motto at the start of each new year to succinctly express her dreams or goals for the following 12 months. I picked my motto for this year: Clutter free in 20-23.

It speaks more of a daunting 12-month mission, rather than a New Year’s resolution that will eventually fall by the wayside as more pressing tasks arise.

The goal is purge my home of excess stuff I’ve accumulated since settling in Mexico 50 years ago, indeed over a lifetime. The focus is to get rid of the possessions my heirs won’t want to keep or deal with once I’m six feet under. I know from experience what that means.

Hoarding is a handicap etched in my genes. Years ago my sister and I spent many weeks sorting through dusty cartons and heaps of relics stored in the attic of my parent’s homestead after our mother’s passing. We found a few treasures, but mostly junk. The most astonishing discovery was a tiny and tattered antique silk box containing a sliced fruit cake, gifted to guests at the wedding of my paternal grandparents. Holy cow! Something baked around 90 years before it was unearthed amid family memorabilia.

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