I�ve lost about 25 pounds since last September and I recently decided that my closet could do with some weight loss as well. So, I cleared out the clothes that are, or soon will be, too big.

For the first time in years, I have an exact inventory of what�s in there. I can report that I own four skirts, three dresses and 15 t-shirts. I have way too many turtlenecks, and am severely lacking in the pants department.

This was more than just a massive spring cleaning reorganization. It was a major thinning of the herd. A total ridding of dead weight. I�d allowed everything I owned to congregate and intermingle, regardless of whether it fit, how often I wore it or even if I liked it. The result was a tangled mess of clothes hung haphazardly on bent or bending wire hangers.

When I did the necessary pruning it was a very swift and efficient operation. With the stoic neutrality of a drill sergeant, I examined every item in the closet and yanked whatever didn�t meet specifications. Anything whose tag read above a certain size was piled in my extra bedroom, awaiting further inspection and classification. Whatever I can�t sell at an upcoming garage sale I�ll pass along to charity. I don�t ever want to wear those numbers again.

It was a great catharsis to rid myself of clothes that don�t fit. Like a snake shedding its skin, I�ve outgrown the need for them. Not just their size, although that was my main criterion. Many of the colors, patterns or styles aren�t even something I�d pick again if I were replacing the entire collection tomorrow.

On the other hand, I�m a rather sentimental person and it�s hard to set aside some of these things without recalling the memories they hold and the stories they could tell. Like:

• the indestructible dress that I wore to two weddings in six weeks, one in California and one in Georgia, which went thousands of miles in a garment bag without needing to be ironed;
• the red shorts I wore twice to The Great Escape, forgetting (until it was too late) the second time that they turned my underwear red when I got soaked on the Raging River;
• the pant suit and the wool jacket my mother-in-law gave me the Christmas before she died.

Most likely what I�ll do is box up these and other memorable items�well, maybe I�ll skip the red shorts�and set them aside for future reminiscing.

The flip side of this somewhat bittersweet process is the fun I�m having going through boxes and bags filled with clothes in a variety of smaller sizes. I�m nowhere near being able to wear many of them, but it�s great to get acquainted with some old friends. Like:

• the outfit I wore as a "date" to my friend�s office Christmas party;
• my first, and only, 100% linen purchase;
• a pair of floral print jeans and matching cotton jacket.

Digging through yet another box I find more t-shirts than I ever knew I�d possessed. Concert souvenirs. Shirts advertising former employers. College-era shirts with risqu� dorm slogans. Going back still farther, I find I still have the olive drab t-shirt I wore to celebrate/lament the final episode of M*A*S*H.

Why do I keep some of these clothes, particularly the ones that I know I�ll never wear again, even if they fit? I guess it�s because as symbols of my life they are irreplaceable. Being able to wear them isn�t important as being able to recall, "I wore this when . . ."

Many families pass down quilts made from scraps of worn out clothes and other fabrics filled with family memories, stories and history. For most of the things I�ve stored away I couldn�t see doing that. I�ve kept them intact for a reason: that way, the memories are full-size and full-color. I�d hate to see them reduced to four-by-four squares.

Back to the half-empty closet. I�m coming upon a sizable gap in my inventory where I gained a bunch of weight during pregnancy and wore nothing but stretch maternity pants and tops. So, there�s no doubt I�ll have to do some shopping in the coming months to fill things out a bit and get through the summer without feeling like I�m wearing the same thing every other day.

Before I spend any money on clothing, though, I�m going to start with the basics: no more wire hangers!