A House of Stuff

Last night I skyped with one of my very most favorite, beloved families on the planet: the Lewis clan. We talked for well over an hour and I was able to see five of the six members of that cute fam.

I love skype.

I remember when I was about eleven years old we moved from the small town of Seiling to a larger town called Cushing. I desperately missed my childhood best friend Cindy whom I had grown up with. And though I begged and pleaded, my dad was really cheap and wouldn't let me call her to check in, see how she was doing. We spent part of most every day together for many years and then...nothing.

I missed her so much that I ached inside. She was my best friend. We did everything together.

I remember watching the Jetsons during this time, and they had a form of Skype on the show where they could talk to each other face to face via a form of television. I was so jealous and longed for such an invention in my own life.

And now, thirty some years later, I have it.

Modern technology is amazing.

Anyway, my sister and I were talking about a friend of hers who moves every two years and she has moving down to a science. She only owns quality "stuff", and not much of it, so that she can pack and unpack quickly. It was an inspiring story.

So this morning I was looking around my house--looking at all of my "stuff" and thinking What could I get rid of?

My eyes immediately wandered to a clock that sits on the top shelf of my bookcase. I've had this clock for, I think, 23 years. Dad gave each of us girls a clock one year for Christmas, proclaiming that his gift-purchasing years were now done and he wanted to give us something nice as the last hurrah. So, of course, this clock has a lot of meaning to me. It's delicate, timeless.

But it doesn't work and it hasn't worked for years.

I've moved several times with this clock even though it doesn't work. I just can't part with it.

And then, in my living room, I counted four candles, all of them partially used. In my cabinets in the laundry room I probably have an addition ten to fifteen candles. I'm kind of obsessed with candles actually--love the homey atmosphere they bring to a room. But this house is large and I often forget to burn them. So there they sit.

I've moved boxes of candles every single time we've moved. I can't bear to part with them because...well, I love candles.

In the entryway closet sits a host of scrapbooks that reflect 47 years of life. And there's a large chest in there as well, jam-packed with memorabilia of three growing children: homemade cards they gave me when they were four, schoolwork they completed in child-like scrawl; homemade crafts with "I love you, Mom and Dad!" etched in them.

I never open that chest actually--can't remember the last time I browsed through it really. But still...how does one part with such treasures?

I have more books than I can count: recipe books that hold pictures of foods that look scrumptious and, I swear, I'm going to make those recipes one of these days...even though I haven't for years; story books that I hold dear though I haven't read them for over twenty years; books that are still in plastic wrapping simply because I haven't gotten to them but...someday...

Can one ever have enough books?

I have a hodgepodge of dishes that are dust-covered from lack of use. I have knickknacks and photographs in frames, each bearing its own story.

So when I look around my house at a plethora of "stuff", I am aware that packing this house up would be a monumental task. When we first moved here, we came from an apartment that was about 1200 square feet. Quite small. But this house? It's huge--well over 2000 square feet. And we've grown into it splendidly. We have filled a large living room and a man cave upstairs with all kinds of furniture and pictures and memorabilia. Every inch of this house seems to burst with "stuff."

And sadly? I am attached to it all; each piece bears a story.

Darian brought that home to me as a gift from Puerto Rico when she went there here Senior year; Savana made that for me at Claying Around; I stole that from Roy's office, even though I bought it for him as a gift one year; that was a gift from a very dear friend; that was my dad's favorite book as a child; my mom gave that to me one year for Christmas; those were my girls' favorite movies when they were little; besides, isn't Winnie the Pooh timeless?...

How does one part with one's life?

I heard one time that if you really want to de-clutter your house, you have to invite someone in who doesn't live with you and let them tell you what is "junk" and needs to go. I'm afraid, if I were to do that, it would turn into one big argument, each of us shouting and playing tug-of-war.

Maybe I'm too attached too all of these things in my life. Maybe I need to take a picture of each one, upload it to my blog, tell its story, then kiss it goodbye.

That sounds like a lot of work.

So for now, I will just think about it with a sigh...

Excuse me while I go light a candle.