Ah, to spring clean, or not to spring clean. That is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer … or just get it over with.

 I’m from a mixed message of spring cleaners. My mother? Scrubbed, scoured and tossed. Her mother? Same thing. She burned her wedding dress just because it took up space, and who needed it again anyway?

 My father? He likes “curb appeal.” If the outside looks great, who cares about the inside? His mother? Oh my.

 She’s in a nursing home now. But her Hoboken brownstone? Four floors of miscellaneous stuff. She’s still mourning where all her stuff is … wants to know where every last trinket ended up.

 So every spring, when we’re supposed to clean up and throw out … I get stuck.

This year is different, however. This spring I live in a small space. And although I donated (and tossed) bags of stuff to get into this small space … well. It’s still cluttered.

 As I’ve been hunting around to find more things to toss and donate I keep getting stuck on one particular pile: vinyl. I have this stack of old vinyl records taking up prime real estate in my (only) closet. Some covers I hung on walls … others I’m thinking I can make into … purses.

 But the reality is … I can’t make a purse out of an LP. And there is only so much wall space I can decorate with album covers before my tiny space will look, well, sad.

 Why can’t I part with these relics of my high school years? One, an old boyfriend signed. Another? A rock star himself (ok, it was just a Bay City Roller). I look at each album cover and I remember every concert. I remember walking downtown to the local record store, my babysitting money clutched in my hand so I could buy Madonna’s latest. Or an oldie from the Doors. Warren Zevon, the Cars … Yes, Jethro Tull and Rush.

 These records hold more memories than my high school yearbook. These records tell the truth. They still speak to me. My yearbook? Eh, I could toss.

 But these old LPs? I’ll always keep room for them, even if I have to toss more clothes.