The subject of hoarding can never be too far from your consciousness— after all, baby boomers have been collecting stuff since the 60s. For all I know, you’re still wearing it all too.

But now it’s time to let go. Stop hoarding and start redistributing. To help you with your hoarding compulsion, you can watch some of the TV shows that are still running or go with Marie Kondo “does it spark joy” method.

What does it say about us that there are TV shows devoted to hoarders? There’s even a Clutterers Anonymous organization plying the 12 step waters to find their way to recovery. Twelve steps seems like too many if you’re trying to reduce the clutter in your life. What about three steps? 1) Admit you’ve been making a mess of your home. 2) Get rid of all the crap you’ve been hoarding. 3) Apologize to anyone you’ve ever allowed/forced to be in your home. There—that was easy.

The International OCD Foundation (you read that right) even has a Hoarding Center. That sounds a little obsessive, but they would know more about that than me. You can go to the Hoarding In the News section and read about how too much “stuff” can cause grief.

Once I came across a Holmes on Holmes TV episode (make it right Mike) where contractor Mike Holmes was flabbergasted to find a couple who had so much crap in their home that the heating and ventilation system couldn’t work properly (the vents were all blocked!!!). It just got away from them and then snowballed to the point that they didn’t know where to start—so they didn’t. If Mike had not come along, they would probably be dead now—carbon dioxide poisoning. He and his crew carted off all the family’s junk in a convoy of four trucks.

Boomers, it’s time to get proactive. Learn to love the minimalist décor. Dump it on your kids, sell it on eBay or leave it in the street, but you’ve got to get rid of your excess stuff before the reality show producers come calling and you really make a fool out of yourself. Fifteen minutes of fame is a strong lure, but do you really want your friends and family to see you that way? There are lots of teenagers jonesin’ for your cast-offs. Let someone else take care of your stuff the second time around.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

Do seniors get crotchety? Do they love to complain? I’m 71. One thing I’ve noticed in my senior communities is the penchant to complain. Some seem to make a lifestyle of it. Whether the price of a meatloaf dinner or the restaurant server. The condition of a golf course or price of a prescription. The cable company or the HOA provider. Sheesh! The number of complaints seems to grow along with our age number. Does tolerance diminish? Does patience wane? What is it?

Our worlds become smaller in retirement. We have more time to focus on small irritations. We feel larger if we provide opinions and harangue.

It don’t have to be that way. I propose we strive to increase the happiness within our own lives. Given that we are living the moments that we have left, our happiness factor is an indicator of our quality of life (and those around us). Might we forgive one person each day their failings? Can we overlook the efforts of others that don’t measure up to our pinnacle? Can we extend a smile each day to someone laboring to provide service? I find that kindness really is the greatest gift. It’s uplifting. You’ll be amazed what you get back.

If you or a spouse are one of these misery sorts, and it really doesn’t love company, set anger aside, change your perspective. Extend a hand of greeting and tolerance. How many times a day do you smile? Too few? You can do it. Think of a pleasant memory. Recall a favorite phrase or song. Try a few minutes of meditation. Turn off the news. Disengage from other negative providers. If you find yourself turning to darker thoughts, turn them off. Concentrate on a positive hour, a positive day, a positive week.

Some of us have many ailments. It’s a favorite conversation topic and goes on and on. But if your glass is half full, your ailment report has a positive side. You’re still here. You’re still able to love and be loved. You’re still able to provide someone thanks and gratitude. I guarantee that your heart will be lighter.

I hope the next time we meet I’ll hear all that’s right with you, that you’re hopeful for better outcomes. I hope you’ll share these positive thoughts with others and encourage them to pass along happier moments and pay it forward.

Chris Keto is a retired human resources director who lives in 55+ community in Leesberg, Florida

“I think this is the spot where Blue Rainbow had his shack.”

“Not much left of it, is there?” she said.

They kicked at a few rotten boards with faded flowers painted on them, overgrown with sorrel and ferns.

“I guess not,” he said, “but Blue had the best view on the commune.”

“Even the view is gone,” she said. “The place is barely recognizable.” She gazed toward a row of spindly pines.

“Still pretty idyllic, don’t you think?”

They walked back to the Big House. Until recently, it was occupied by one of their old communard friends. He died a few months back, after a lingering bout of meningitis.

Hearing about his death, the Bobby and Jenean, who had lived together ever since leaving the commune after the FBI raid in 1974, decided to make a day of it, and picnic on the land. The tofu and arugula sandwiches nevertheless left a hollow feeling in their stomachs. The trip had begun to take on the morbid feeling of lingering too long at a funeral. Both of them tried to make light of it, though.

“Betty and Alice’s treehouse was around here somewhere.”

“I think that big Doug fir blew down in a storm.”

The water tank was overflowing with weeds. The Big House belied its own nickname. It was smaller now than the place Bobby and Jenean lived in, alone, back on their quiet cul-de-sac.

There was a circular platform of crumbling boards.

“Here’s Seth’s dome,” he said.

“Aw, he and I had some good times here,” she said.

Bobby turned his gaze on her. “Wait, I thought you couldn’t stand Seth.”

“No, no, you’re thinking of Steve. He I couldn’t stand,” she said. “Seth on the other hand…” Her voice trailed off in winsome memory.

“I’m sure it was Seth,” he said. “Are you telling me you and Seth had a thing?”

She lingered over her answer. “Well, now I’m not sure. It was a long time ago, after all.”

“Shit,” he said. “Every time we look back on that time, I’m hearing about another of your lovers. I thought I was your only one here.”

“You were, sweetie, you were.” She paused. “In a way.”

“Shit. I hated that guy. How could you…?”

“Come on Bobby. It was the times.”

He knew she was right. Still, he thought, Seth? Fucking Seth, too?

John Q McDonald is from Pleasanton, CA 

We keep appliances until they are absolutely, positively dead. The Betty Crocker toaster finally croaked, and we were trying to remember when we bought it. Was it when we lived in South Carolina? Mount Pleasant? If our memories are correct, that would make it about 25 years old.

The toaster has served us well, and now it’s time for a new one. This is where Dale and I take completely different paths. Although he sometimes lacks motivation to get other things done, he is Johnny Mission when it comes to replacing broken appliances.

I was gone all day, but Dale immediately went out and shopped for toasters at Bed, Bath & Beyond. He didn’t buy one, though, because he thought I’d want a vote … which is a polite way of saying he figured I wouldn’t like whatever it was he bought.

Dale does not appreciate my approach to purchasing new appliances. I get online and do research. I check Consumer Reports, Good Housekeeping and The Wirecutter. Oh, and Amazon reviews. I want to know test results, best overall, best value, unusual quirks.

My process served me well when our hand blender died, because I learned the biggest and baddest would not have worked for my small-batch mayonnaise. A simpler and smaller model was perfect.

I was like this before I retired, but now I’m more zealous than ever. I liked being in charge when I was working, and I guess I still like it. Dale also liked being in charge when he was working, and I don’t think he appreciates the idea of reporting to me. Sometimes in marriage and in life, you will lead, and sometimes you will follow. Retirement is an opportunity to work on the follow part. I’m getting there.

We had the toaster discussion last night. He said I know you. You’ll get online and try to find the perfect toaster with all the bells and whistles. And then I surprised myself. I said, yes, that is what I would normally do, but I’m not going to do it this time. The toaster is in your court. Whatever you choose is fine with me.

Really? Yes, really. And when I let go, I felt good. It’s just a toaster, but it’s my husband’s free will. I mean, that’s how we ended up with a red food processor, and life hasn’t come to a screeching halt. Let him be the natural born predator that he is. Set him free to hunt it down, kill it with a credit card and drag it home.

This morning I asked him about the toaster he liked at Bed, Bath & Beyond.

Did it come in colors?

Yes.

OK, what colors?

White and chrome.

Which one did you like better?

White.

That’s cool.

I was thinking chrome, but I kept my mouth shut. We will soon be celebrating the arrival of a brand-new white toaster of unknown origins. I have nothing to do with it. Just following along.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

I bought books at yard sales, estates sales, flea markets and used bookstores. There was such a store near my house called 10,000 Books. Probably could be called 9,950 thanks to me. Baseball, travel, war, animals, television, the Beatles, and other 60s and 70s rockers were my favorite subjects. I was also gifted a lot of books on those same subjects. I have books where they belong, on shelves in our living room and home office; and where they don’t, in boxes in closets, in totes and stacked on the floor next to my side of the bed.

I’m 70 now and I have a ton of books. And I don’t think I’m using “ton” euphemistically. My 1948 copy of The Library of Health is 1800 pages and it alone weighs eight pounds. Today it could fit on a chip the size of a grain of sand with room for the Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, of which I have two.

I used to think it was cool to find, for five or 10 bucks, a coffee table copy of “The British Invasion” or Maps of Civil War Battles or The Immortal John Lennon published at 40 to 60 bucks.

Now I think it would be cool to be get rid of them, but I can’t. I lugged a hundred of them to my yard for a tag sale and nobody even looked at them. Nobody reads anymore, books at least, and everybody has a device in their pocket to tell them anything they need to know.

We’re getting a dumpster soon. Hope I don’t injure my back.

Jack Smiles and lives in Wyoming, PA. I find that sentence amusing. Not sure if he smiles because he lives in Wyoming, or because it’s in Pennsylvania.