I am not a hoarder, a piler, a saver, or a keeper. In fact, I actually have a deep aversion to piles.
My mother was a pragmatic piler. God forbid we ‘adjusted’ a single pile so we could eat at the kitchen table and enjoy a meal, or ‘ever-so-slightly’ move a pile on the stairs – just a tad bit closer to the banister- so that we could actually walk up the stairs without the fear of tripping! Her piles were made of paper – recipes never to be tested, bills – reluctantly acknowledged, cards – from the past ten or so years she planned to rsvp with some nicety yet formulated, and of course, index cards, the harbingers of addresses, birthdates, social security numbers, wedding dates, phone numbers, and other vital information that most kept in a book. She would exclaim that these piles that marred the table, the counter tops, and any other surface she deemed her domain were ‘her important papers and would not be moved!’ End of issue. Today, in her room at the nursing home, she has happily created piles that make her room her Castle.
My husband is a decendant of Hoarders and Pilers; all seven children now have their own homes to preserve their delicate, treasured piles and ‘stuff.’ Secretly, I know they pity my husband for marrying ‘One Of Them,’ an ‘Un-Piler’ or an ‘If It does Not Have a Home, It Does Not Stay’ kinda gal.
Do not get me wrong, I do save some things. I have an old trunk in the attic where I store cards from friends and family members, pictures from my high school and college days, and Grover – yes, that Grover – that was given to me by my high school friends and became a favorite of many of my 26 nieces and nephews. That is it.
My philosophy is simple – if I treasure it, it should be displayed somewhere not hidden in a drawer to be forgotten or stored in an attic collecting dust.
We have several apothecaries throughout the house; each drawer, for the most part, is empty. At random times, when the mood strikes – which is roughly four times a year- I go through the drawers to make sure ‘no one’ has placed an object in any drawer because HE did not know where else to put it. If I ‘discover’ a ‘hidden object,’I simply remove it and place it on HIS desk, which I also do with attempts of ‘Towers of Power’ mail he begins to construct on – THE KITCHEN TABLE.
Each year, I salivate at mere thought of ‘getting to’ the drawers and closets, the attic, and one day, I will ‘attack and disarm’ the basement under the guise of ‘serious sinus infections due to moldy objects.’ Right now, D Day is set for sometime in October. Methodically, I throw everything on the floor, review each items’ level of ‘usefulness’, and then determine if it has a ‘Home.’ If I cannot think of its ‘relevance to my existence,’ it goes.
“Just like THAT?!” My husband asks with alarm.
“Just like that,” I smile in response. “I refuse to climb the attic stairs at the age of 65 to rid our home of forgotten goods.”
“But most of that stuff is mine,” he pleads.
“Do you use it?”
“No,” he answers apprehensively.
“Do you know what it is?” I continue with the inquisition.
Hesitantly and sullenly he concedes with a “No.”
“Then why keep it?” He stares, not at me, but at the silence that is aimed for his heart.
“See YA!” And I continue to fill the bag with ‘unappreciated’ or ‘abandoned’ items. Sometimes, he questions items I once displayed and now have no use for them.
“It’s garbage,” I matter-of-factly state. He will insist it’s not broken. I offer a simple “And?” I take the item and toss it.
I do, however, offer items to my friends who will proudly display the new decor in their homes. It is my compromise – I did not throw it away, and I did find a ‘Home” for it! Now we should both be happy, although I can see the confusion on his entire face as it contorts to try to understand “What Is It Like In Your World?” His usual comment to me in various situations.
On the other hand, my husband will tell you that I am a “Good Little Consumer.” I do, however, always find a ‘Home’ for every item I purchase, even if I must permanently displace an item. My friends look forward to these moments, as stated above, since they know it may soon be theirs. During visits, it is not surprising that many will begin a conversation with, “If you ever decide to to get rid of…I want it.”
During dinner a few years back, my husband asked between bites and without looking up, “Now why did we get a new refrigerator?”
Without flinching, I answered, “The lightbulb was out.”
He began ‘The Nod’ as he took another bite.
With the opening of school right around the corner, I find myself unwilling to even go there – in thought or action.