"[The real estate agent] took honest photos of the space, capturing the charm, but also the clutter and wear and tear that had accrued over nearly 50 years."

"They listed the loft at $1.99 million, underpriced because of the sale’s many contingencies and complications. The back windows, for example, could not be accessed: one was covered by a metal shutter, a vestige of the building’s industrial past, and the others were obscured by heavy curtains, the path to them blocked by furniture and an unfinished second bathroom.... Ms. Blumstein scheduled two open houses in late January. About 450 people showed up; there were lines around the block. [The owner, Linda] Sampson sat inside, receiving her many visitors and answering questions about her life and the history of the neighborhood. In the end, they received 14 all-cash offers.... With the windfall from the sale, [Sampson] had a rental budget of $6,000 a month, but staying Downtown would have necessitated moving to a much smaller space, which she didn’t want to do. Instead, she signed a two-year lease on a large Tudor-style house in Rego Park, Queens.... 'When someone like Linda leaves SoHo, it loses one of the sparks of light and history,' said her friend, Ms. Albert. 'But then, the neighborhood isn’t what it was. All the people in the arts who had a skill and a talent and a dream, who came and interacted, that’s what made it so special and vibrant. 'Linda and her loft are a piece of the past,' she continued. 'Another piece of the past that’s moving on.'

From "The Last of the SoHo Pioneers/An artist who bought a loft on West Broadway for $15,000 in 1972 sells it for $2.4 million and retires to her home borough of Queens" (NYT). The 18 photographs at the link are fascinating. The clutter is shocking or beautiful, depending on what sort of person you are. Go through the slide show and don't miss photos 12, 13, and 14, which are "virtually staged." That is, you "see" the space completely cleared out and painted white, but all the owner's belongings were still there, and would-be buyers who toured to the place had to wend their way through "pathways" that the agency had "crafted... so people could access the different areas."

Sampson — who is 75 — doesn't really like Rego Park, and she's thinking of coming back to SoHo, even though there's almost nothing left of what made it so great in the 1970s.

"Most of the things I like are gone,” Ms. Sampson said. Dean & DeLuca closed last year and many of the artisan shops that followed in the galleries’ wake disappeared long ago: the fine jewelry stores, Norma Kamali and her famous sleeping bag coats, all the little coffee shops and restaurants. “It’s become very generic,” she said.

I remember when Dean & DeLuca opened. It was 1977. I lived around there at the time. It was the lovely beginning of things getting too upscale. Still, where else can you go? If I were Sampson, with $6,000 a month to spend on rent, I'd pare the possessions down like hell and move back to SoHo.

How can you keep all that stuff at the end of your life? Who will deal with it when you are gone, and how can you yourself keep it in order as you age? I realize she's not a big "order" person, but everyone has their comfort point between order and chaos, and you have to think about where, for you, the balance is tipped.