Freddy Kruger's loss, my gain

As you all know, I feel challenged by my closet. Times that by eighty and you now have an approximation of my angst toward my mother’s attic. The attic. It was the catalyst of many childhood memories.

In this spooky place upstairs, lurking over my parent’s bedroom, is where I feared Freddy Kruger lived. That might also have something to do with my dad. He frequently watched scary movies with me and then would, coincidentally, ask me to go to the attic and get some useless object for him because he decided he needed it right then. Being the very good and obedient daughter that I was, and still am, eh hem, I begrudgingly set my course up the staircase and into the dark, ominous upstairs. I would turn the light on and dash as fast as I could through the attic door, search frantically for the useless object, and zip right back out the way I came, never ever looking back because I was sure Freddy was on my heels. That’s when my dad, sneaky fellow, would pounce out of the shadows and grab me with his hand that was clawed and curled just like Freddy’s. It was horrific!

This room harbors my best grade school papers, notable ceramic creations and cutest outfits from childhood. I have memories galore here in this ‘room of everything and nothing’. Our keepsake toys are here. Paige and I would bring them up to this space when we were little to play freely and imagine that the same room that housed Freddy Kruger was magically a royal retreat or circus land. I, to this day, don’t walk to the edges of the room because for some reason I thought I would fall through the floor. So weird, I know, but I still keep my distance from the perimeter of the room.

This past weekend I tackled this attic and all that angst with a fury. I threw my hair back, my chin up, and my laziest looking clothes on and got my elbows dirty scouring around in this vacuum of Dunaway past. It sucked in everything we deemed halfway valuable. Time to exfoliate and eliminate.

And guess what…

Along the way I found some new treasures. My mom’s vintage clothing. Girls get ready!! If you have a similar space in your house, it is a gem! Not only will a voyage into an attic take you down memory lane, dig up buried laughable moments and help you feel organized after you ditch the junk, it is also a Vintage Boutique! My mom had the cutest dresses stored away and they, after laundering, will be perfect for wearing. They are a splash of Anthropologie and a dash of Jackie O. What a find. I found adorable dresses for not a cent that mean more to me than the most expensive; they’re priceless. Who knows how ole’ Freddy Kruger feels about my snatching away all his fashionable goodies, but I figure he owes me anyway.