For October 3 Drummer Column, 700 words, Gibbs

I cleaned my den. This might sound like a humdrum housecleaning tale, but let me promise you it was no easy task. Actually, I relocated the den into my moved-out daughter's bedroom -- larger quarters. This required a clean sweep and a line item veto on things that needed tossed.

When I was a kid, I used to collect things in boxes, mostly paper - old letters, concert tickets, brochures, photos. When I moved to college I took those boxes with me. In college I collected more things in bigger boxes - newsletters, assignments, postcards. I also kept all my text books and notebooks. When I moved to Berkeley and worked for the phone company I collected more stuff - weird posters off Berkeley telephone poles, Pacific Bell FYI memos, business cards, name tags. Throughout the process I also kept all my old drivers licenses, ID cards, vacation mementos, and on and on. When I moved to Benicia into Susan's house, I brought all that baggage with me, and stored it in my den. Then I began collecting computer software and parts and stuffing them in there too, along with all the books I teach and my reference material. My den makes Tanners Antique Shop look like a racquet-ball court.

When I decided to relocate, I also decided to break with my pack-rat habits. I didn't just move boxes, I went through them one item at a time, looking for trash. That took three days.

I found things I haven't seen in years: my birth certificate, my high school and college diplomas, Bob Dylan concert tickets, a roll of Albert Einstein 15-cent First Class stamps, an Olympic gold coin, my 5-year PacBell pin, an autograph from REO Speedwagon's lead singer, my Buck knife, a "Soul 69" sticker, a plaster cast of my flat right foot from 1979, my very first Different Drummer Column, and more.

The weird thing is that I had such a good time rummaging, letting my memory wander back over the stories attached to each item, that I couldn't bear to throw much of it away. After all, it had done what I'd saved it for - it gave me memories.

I read the comments students had made on a series of oil paintings I'd done in college. Deep down the urge to paint again awoke. Luckily, I'd saved all my oil paints and brushes from my high school and college art class.

I found pictures of dead friends and remembered how full of life they had been. I found pictures of my late father's deadly car crash. I only have about six memories of him. I found drawings that my full-grown nieces had made for me with they were toddlers. I found some of our wedding pictures that we thought were lost.

What I decided after looking at my life's keepsakes was that I had to keep them, but now I wouldn't have to look at them again for 20 years. I won't need them at least until I have grandchildren to bore. So, I bagged up most of my things airtight and waterproof, and stuffed them under the house through a hole in the garage. They're now stashed away like time capsules.

I don't consider myself a material person. I don't like to buy stuff. My possessions are

mostly old, squeaky, dog-eared, scuffed, scratched, tarnished or loose, and I bought them second-hand. But I do like to capture my experiences with rocks, refrigerator magnets, and pamphlets. I still have the army men I played with as a kid mounted to the wall next to my computer. I'm looking at them now.

I tried to shake off my pack rat tendencies when I first tackled the mountain of boxes, bags, and stuck drawers because my new room was empty and tidy and I wanted to keep it that way. But it was a rash decision. I'd be throwing away my life's work. Instead, I did what I had intended to do all along - sit on the floor and spend a weekend looking at the darn things. Now I can get them out from under my feet. My new den is empty and tidy. Anyone for a game of racquet ball?