April 10, 2010

A Revolution

Boxes in the overhead closet. 2007.

Himself: Swam, job hunting, laundry, La Jolla Sale, Stumps, home, closet, dinner, Games, TV….keeping things simple.

Herself: Swam, Cancer Society shop where I committed to coming in for an hour or so on Wednesdays as the wheelchair bound book lady quit, sale, store, closet, dinner, book, bed with TV.

Reading: Rereading McCaffrey’s “Dragonquest.”

Gratitude: For that sense of freedom that let me do what I did yesterday,

Enough. That’s what my head said yesterday. We went to an estate sale, and there was really nothing there. Imagine. Unlike our home where there is vastly too much everywhere, this house had minimal new things as befitting a second home. Even the cars were for sale.

And too, around here many are talking about that TV show "Hoarders." Perhaps we are all frightened by that. As the end stop for two families of things, of stuff and more stuff plus our own stuffs, I feel a certain lingering sense of guilt about stuff.

Here the excess hangs right out there in public. So much so that perhaps I should write a poem about it….artist crushed by excess as it falls from a closet, or, artist’s husband trips over twenty foot tall pile of quilts and falls down stairs….tho it isn’t quite that bad.

In sight are books…which I read, and more books.

In our closets and in the garage are mountains of stuff…and more stuff. What did we do yesterday?

We cleaned the storage closet over G’s closet and got rid of a true mountain of stuff. We can fill Grumpy’s bed with bags and boxes of stuff, things, and orts full to the brim which combined with Bee’s closet cleaning will be more than full. Some of the old quilts, clothes, bedspreads, pillows, shams, bed skirts, and more pillows will go up to Lessa’s house. What she doesn’t need will go to other recovering battered women and recovering addict/alcoholics.

When G bought that 1940’s Hawaiian style bedspread, pillows, shams, bed skirt, et al, we redecorated the bedroom and never looked back. No more beige, brown, or greys for us.

I kept all the quilts. I kept six heavy boxes of my old hard-bound journals. We kept the Christmas ornaments to go through at the end of the year. Sensible. I need to look at the bookcases and see what I might reread or what I won’t. Perhaps books will be the next big purge.

Imagine the hysteria my security demons are having right now. I can hear them scream, can’t you?


  1. Stuff. I'm going through my stuff because I am on overload and will prolly do a porch sale in a month or two. Twelve years ago I had almost nothing. I am looking forward to being a bit leaner in the 'stuff' department.

  2. Do you happen to have a school of dentistry anywhere near you? With G unemployed would you perhaps qualify for help there?

    I'm not setting foot in the dentist office until I've given this tooth every chance to heal on its own. It does seem to be improving slowly and I'm pleased I've avoided an abcess to this point.

    I'm eating on the opposite side and will continue to do that if it means I can avoid an implant.

    I can get on a wretched rant about dental care in America being a privilege only the above average income people can afford.

    Dental care should have been a piece of health care reform but not a cheep did we hear about that. The dentists just sat back and smiled.

    We live in an apartment which, by necessity, keeps me in a constant state of cleaning out and getting rid of stuff. I can't stand too much clutter.

  3. Good for you. Passing things on. It always amazes me when I do my shift of working at the local Oxfam shop, how many elderly people buy soooo much stuff. Where can they possibly put it all. I like the idea of just paring down more and more as the years go by.

  4. Yes, I've been paring down also. Before I sublet my apartment last year I got rid of lots of stuff, and more after I returned. But stuff is not books--that's my Achilles' heel.


What a delight to get a note from you. Thanks for leaving one.


Peter in front of a wall sculpture.      Peter in front of a wall sculpture. We were invited up to Peter Knego’s home...