Sometimes, like every four or five years, I think it would be a really good idea if my house went up in flames and I got out safely with my family, my quilts, and my photographs. Then I wouldn't have to pack it all up when it's time to move. I could claim it with the fire insurance and start over with a more simplistic life and not EVER accrue the clutter.
I am also entertaining illusions of grandeur of living on a grassy knoll with a lovely little four bedroom home planted right in the middle and outback you can find a cow and half a dozen chickens. We can rest under the shady oak tree that someone planted 50 years ago and homeschool my kids in the lovely breezy afternoon.
Or we could live in a mold-free home on the central west coast paying up the nose in rent. But at least it will be mold-free. hopefully.