September 2026 Open Write Day 1 of 4: Ritual Cleansing

My brother Ken and I on July 8, 2025 (my birthday) cleaning Dad’s house

Mo Daley of Illinois is our host today for the September Open Write Day 1. You can read her full prompt here. She writes:

As fall approaches, I can’t stop thinking about changes and shifts. Of course, the changing colors of Midwestern trees are always inspirational, but something else has been on my mind lately.

I look around and see the land and how I have worked with it and changed it, which leads me to wonder about those who came here before me.

Mo inspires us to consider our surroundings with these questions: How would you describe them? Have they always looked this way? Who was there before you? Perhaps 20, 50, or 100 years ago? How about long before then? Do you know what indigenous tribes were living there hundreds of years ago? You can enter your address in this online tool to inform you.

She inspires us to take a few moments to think about those who came before us, and then as a tribute to those who came before us, to write a poem about the land around us. Of course, my mind flashes back to this time last year, when my brother and I were in the midst of cleaning out a lifetime of a collector’s full collection of so many things we never even knew existed. He and Mom had been going to estate sales for years, collecting everything under the sun for the store they would one day own but never did because the one who knew how to make it happen departed this life before he did. And that’s when we discovered just how much they had accumulated……

Ritual Cleansing of 322 Magnolia and 7 Associated Storage Rooms

we circled the perimeter

of each room

beheld each dresser

each chair

each table

we acknowledged

each heirloom

each keepsake

each sacred sentiment

we wondered

whose each was

who drank from it

who ate from it

who slept on it

whose treasures it held

as we purified the space

cleaned the cobwebs

released old ghosts

freed captive belongings into new worlds

we invoked the spirits

invited new energies

cleansed the air

connecting past and present

on the timeline of forever

starting a new chapter

in the book of what remains

In Places Loved Nonet

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

today I loaded my car with books

first editions, autographed names

I’m holding on no longer

to these inked hostages ~

those sentiments are

not mine; nor those

memories ~

I’ve let

go

of

housing

what should live

in places loved

where their worth is not

measured in value of

possible return or in

collectors’ satisfaction but

in what’s inside ~ their words and message

Saying Goodbye

Photo by Nerosable on Pexels.com

I have family members who have been preparing to open a new business – a Rage Room. If you haven’t heard of these, here’s an article that explains the concept. You take all your anger into a room filled with appliances and glassware and dishes and use a bat or sledgehammer to smash everything all to pieces. These businesses are rising in popularity across the nation – not as a substitute for therapy, but as a way of releasing pent-up anger in a controlled setting.

My relatives were heading to another estate sale last weekend to buy all the china and crystal, lamps, and anything else that’s smashable, including televisions and microwave ovens. It stopped me in my tracks when I considered what some of my other relatives may think about this if they realized that their precious items may be destined to be violently destroyed.

I have other family members with storage rooms. They have been paying monthly rent for years to hold onto items they believe to have value. Unfortunately, the financial profit potential is red – it has been for years, just holding onto things, and it gets redder and redder every month a storage room’s rent is paid. By now, the cost of holding onto these things exceeds having bought them brand new several times. The greatest value that these items will ever hold, at this point, are the memories – – which can be of no value when they are held hostage in storage rooms with little to no regular use. Many haven’t seen the light of day in years, and are either in non-climate controlled storage slowly molding or are waiting their turn to be taken to a landfill.

There seems to be a commonly held belief that if we have something we got a great deal on, we could turn that as profit. And perhaps we could if we found the right buyer and if we sold it at the right time for the right price. But just like the next person, most of us are not buying things at full price. We’re looking for the deal, too.

I feel a heavy burden for a colleague’s mother who’d had a large collection of antiques and memorabilia. She’d checked on eBay and Facebook Marketplace to see what the going rates were for some similar items she’d owned for years and believed what she saw as what some of her items were worth. The sellers who mark items for sale at $12,345.67 using the negotiating strategy or assign their own notions of value to their own items had created a false sense of hope for her retirement dreams. When she died last spring, my colleague and her siblings hired an estate sale company to come in and auction all of the items that had been collected for all those years and held as sacred family artifacts.

The hard and sad truth is that these items held no sentimental meaning or memories for my friend and her siblings. They had purchased all their own furniture and belongings through the years and had all they needed, so there was no space for them to put any of their mother’s sentimental items in their homes. They each chose one small item before the auction, and that is all that remains. The rest may be getting smashed.

For some, the smashing may come as a shock. For others, the release of years of collecting items that now border on hoarding may come as a liberating, sweet goodbye to the memory of loved ones whose belongings had more hold over them than time spent with their loved ones. Whether the items they leave behind are purchased to be used as dishware at Christmas tables with families or whether they are being shattered with baseball bats and golf clubs, one thing is true: they will ultimately be released in some form or another to a new and different life. I’ve heard it put this way: Heaven isn’t lined with U-Hauls.