Incremental Success

I managed this week to get rid of another box of unneeded items.  I have been ruthless in discarding irems from the sewing room.  My goodness, how I wish I had the money I have invested in all of the fabric, thread and notions that I am throwing away. 

This weekend, after the dust of Thanksgiving has settled, I will tackle the issue of books.  The main reason to buy an e-reader, for me, would be the issue of storage.  I have books spilling out of bookcases, piles of them on the floor in front of the bookcases. I can't even imagine what it would be like to have 3000 books taking up the space of a stenographer's notebook. 

Getting rid of books is anathema to me.  I was raised and still believe that they were sacred.  They occupied a place of honor in our living room.  As a child, they were my most treasured possessions and provided hours of escape from the harsh realities of my upbringing.  I don't want to give the wrong impression--I wasn't abused or neglected, at least not in the sense that we see abuse and neglect today.  But books took me to exotic worlds where people lived exotic lives.  They wore linen in summer and didn't wilt it with sweat. (Later I came to see the enormous difference between summer in Ireland and summer in the mid-Atlantic)

So, getting rid of books is physically painful.  I find some solace in the fact that perhaps others will be as fascinated as I by their contents. There is some satisfaction in the fact that the local library, so critical to our small, isolated community, will benefit through their semi-annual book sales. 

I am making progress and I do feel lighter in spirit because of it. My office, while still cluttered, feels much less chaotic.  My household feels calmer.  It's easier to find some things and I don't have this never-ending weight of undone chores.  It is slow going, but I am seeing some cleared surface area. 

The Suitcase of Failed Relationships

For thirty years, I have carried a torch for a lover who left me.  Most of the time, I managed to not think about him every single day.  But lately, he has been creeping back into my life, first in my dreams and then into my conscious thoughts.

I compared every man I dated to him.  Most of them came up short.  Did this effectively block any chances I had of establishing a lasting relationship with any of them?  Maybe.  He was a hard act to follow, for sure.  However, I didn't labor under any illusions.  I knew that he was a bad match for me.  But the heart wants what the heart wants.

I had a minor crisis a month or two ago when I paced the floor trying to keep myself from calling him.  How humiliating it would have been to contact him out of the blue after all this time only to have him not remember me? What would I have said?

I am puzzled as to why I have decided to start carrying around this particular valise again after so many years.  I honestly don't think anything good can come of it. It is interesting that in my quest to rid myself of baggage that I would voluntarily lift one, especially one that I set down so many years ago.

Making Headway

It's been a while since I last posted.  I have been struggling with the mass of possessions--it never stops.  This holiday weekend has been so good for me.  I have managed to make some headway.  I dismantled my old computer, with a great deal of regret.  It has been a teriffic machine, problem free, and I hated to put it away. I will have to find a way to clean the hard drive and maybe transfer the data to my laptop. But already the desktop looks cleaner and less cluttered. I boxed up the printer and the monitor and have both of them stored in the closet. I can't imagine that there is any sort of market for them, they're that obsolete.

But simply getting that corner of the office cleaned out has made me feel lighter and better about my life. Like I have at least the illusion of control.  I even began the enormous project of categorizing and filing the music I have. It's time to shed old tapes and maybe even CD's. Now that some record companies are no longer going to make them, I guess they will go the way of the vinyl LP's I have stacked on the floor. What to do with them?

I think I maybe am getting in control of this possessions steamer trunk. Funy how just the smallest bites add up.  If I could maintain this level of ambition, I might be able to transform that spare room into a place where someone could actually stay should someone actually come and visit me.

Origins of the Trunk

My sense of timing isn't always the best, I suppose. I woke this morning full of energy and ready to tackle my stuff, at least in the spare room. However, this morning was already given over to a promised workshop/potluck for a choral group I direct. I did manage, however, to get some questionable items removed from the fridge, and carried out a box of no longer wanted items that I will drop off at the mission this afternoon. I consider it a minor success that I came back to my house with fewer things than I left with at 9:00 this morning.


Over lunch I talked with some of my friends about this steamer trunk of extra possessions. There is some small comfort in knowing that I am not alone in my battle.  Others have a more difficult fight than I do.  Some don't even have the problem. I am not sure if it's because they truly don't have excess "stuff," or that they don't view too many things in their house as a problem.  I can speak only to my own battle.  I have too many things and it does bother me.


One friend told me that she religiously cleans out cupboards and drawers twice a year.  She's offered to come in and help me with my spare room, where most of my excess resides.  I want to see if I can do this myself.


Where are the roots of this inablilty to let go of possessions? I know that my pantry and freezer are stuffed because I remember difficulties with enough food growing up. I am getting better at rotating and using things now before they go out of date and spoil. I live withing walking distance of three grocery stores; I no longer have to rely on the produce of a garden to make it through the winter.  More importantly, I learned, while I was in Paris, the benefits of shopping daily. Fresh is better. I don't have to hoard canned spinach.  I am trying to establish new patterns, and it's a seesaw sort of process.


I had an aunt whose house was stuffed to the gills with stuff.  Every square inch of wall space was covered with a collection of some sort. Thimbles, football (mostly Washington Redskin) memorabilia, commemorative plates, spoon racks.  It made me tired and jangly to be surrounded by so many things. She once told me that she knew her mother had never loved her. I think she was right; I believe she spent most of her adult life trying to stuff possesions into the hole in her soul created by that perceived lack. I have a sister who is following closely on her heels.  I know that my issues are not as great as either of theirs, but the doesn't make them any less difficult for me to handle.  The main difference between us is that I am trying to be self aware, and it's not always a comfortable position.


Besides, I have always lived in small spaces and have never had the chance to accumulate as much as they have.  I have tried to fill the hole in my soul with food, I think.  That issue is going to take some time to examine. Maybe the two issues are linked?

Steamer Trunk of Possessions

I have been wrestling lately with my suitcase of possessions. This piece of luggage sports many tags: heirlooms, collectibles, souvenirs.  It's really more of a steamer trunk than a mere suitcase.  How have I managed to accumulate so much stuff? Why is getting rid of it so difficult?

Compared to some of my friends, I live quite modestly. I've never been much of a gadget or electronics collector. My living space has always been small, so there's never been much room for things. Nonetheless, I feel locked in a battle with my possessions.  I want them (well, many of them) gone and they seem determined to stay.

Maybe people with few interests don't lug around a steamer trunk of too many things. For years I sewed both apparel and quilts. This summer I managed to part with all of my fabric, notions, thread, trims and buttons. For the first time in close to thirty years, my house is piece-goods free. I tossed out used patterns; the clothing would be out of date anyway. The hardest things to part with were the costume patterns I used when I was advising a middle school drama club.  Those students were brilliant, proving that with faith and guidance, 12 year-olds can indeed perform Shakespeare.  It felt like I was giving up some of my own accomplishment when I took those items out of my house. I planned to donate my sewing machine; I didn't think I would ever need it again.  Fortunately I kept it, because it has become the perfect stand for the new hammer dulcimer I am learning to play.

I finally parted with clothes that I hadn't worn in fifteen years. I donated the good items that no longer fit, since I have shed some pounds (that's ANOTHER suitcase).  I was feeling pretty happy about the state of my closets when a friend handed me a bag of clothes that are now to large for her.  While it felt like Christmas and I am grateful for the new wardrobe, my closet contents need to be culled once again.

I am sensing a pattern here.

What else is in the trunk?  Cookbooks.  The ones I actually use are in the kitchen for easy access.  The others have to go! Magazines. Our local library has a magazine swap area where we can share our no longer wanted issues with others. I dropped of my back issues of Bon Appetit and Gourmet and managed a clean get-away. My old art magazines now reside in the schools' art departments, where I hope they will inspire young talent. But a few stragglers remain.  Sheet music.  That has to stay--for now. Having been a vocal musician for most of my life and a choral director for the past 16 year, I have managed to accumulate a library of printed vocal music.  I need and use this resource.  It just needs to reside elsewhere.  It is a sign of progress that I am considering donating some of my duplicate copies to another fledgling choral group here in town.  Art Supplies.  They can stay.  I have plans to use them again.  If I can get the spare room closet under control, they can stay out of sight.  My bicycle.  Put some air in the tires and use it!

My most difficult area to streamline is the kitchen.  I live alone, and due to space limitations, rarely entertain.  So why do I need two complete sets of antique silver(plate) as well as my every day flatware? I actually use my good sterling every day.  Why not?  Do I really need three sets of dishes, especially when I use almost exclusively a mismatched set of brightly colored Melamine plates that make me smile every time I take them from the cupboard? And now that I am committed to eating differently, do I need two Madeleine pans or two spring form pans?  Really? The entire issue of kitchen and pantry supplies needs serious examination. As it was once so famously said, "I'll think about that tomorrow."

What's a Suitcase?

When I was five I ran away from home. Into my dolly's white-with-red-trim square suitcase went every pair of clean underpants I owned.  Even at age five, I knew enough to be prepared for any eventuality.

Over the course of my childhood, I accumulated many more suitcases.  Some of them were foisted upon me by parents and other family members.  Some were acquired in my school career.  Some I picked up entirely voluntarily. Almost all of them were considerably heavier and more complicated than a doll's suitcase full of clean underwear.

I have been trying, with various degrees of success, to put down the suitcases I have acquired.  They can get awfully heavy at times and I don't want to carry some of them, most of them, around any more. For me, setting down the suitcases involves stopping, opening them, examining the contents and their origins, and making a conscious decision about what to keep and what to abandon along the side of my life's road.

This involves some retrospection and some introspection. Most of all it involves a willingness to examine memories and long-held notions.  Luckily I have a level-headed younger sister to listen and provide feedback. It's a process that elicits tears and some healthy laughter as well.

I am willing to bet that I am not the only one with suitcases.