It’s officially summer, and in Virginia, this sultry season started off in typical Southern style—hot, hot, and hotter. For several seasons, I’ve been in decluttering mode. Summer is no different, except that the heat seems to make it more challenging. Somehow, there’s now a hazy mirage hovering over my piles. Over the years, I have accumulated what I refer to as “memory boxes.” These containers are filled with greeting cards from all manner of occasion—Christmases, anniversaries, birthdays, Mother’s Days, and the list goes on. I’ve tried sifting through them, only to put them back. Somehow my mother’s letter from when my first child was born, or a birthday card from a faraway friend, is just too painful to part with. And then, there are the decades of anniversary cards from my husband, who has a talent (and perhaps stock in Hallmark) for, without fail, finding the sweetest and most endearing …